


Bile, Bitter, and Cold

by RebellingStagnation, RubberSoles19



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon), DuckTales (Cartoon 1987), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: DO NOT READ UNTIL YOU'VE READ REBELLINGSTAGNATION'S GERONIMO SERIES, HUGE SPOILERS FOR THAT SERIES, Physical and mental, and mention of a pervert and implied (not totally sexual) attempts from such, lots of torture in this, negaduck can't have a nice christmas, part of a 31 days of christmas challenge i guess, rebellingstagnation, she is covering the others during the 31 day challenge and let me add a few negaduck chapters, shes super great, sorry everyone, will be updated sporadically throughout the month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebellingStagnation/pseuds/RebellingStagnation, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubberSoles19/pseuds/RubberSoles19
Summary: (Side-installment of RebellingStagnation's "A Very Merry Geronimo Christmas" in her "Geronimo" series.)Christmas is... complicated. It's always complicated with Negaduck. Especially when Gosalyn was involved. Especially since he went missing for years on end. Especially since Quiverwing Quack rebuilt the Negaverse in his absence. Especially since her life began to grow onward without him.And especially since no one in the dual-universes had time for the recently, and brutally, tortured duck.(RebellingStagnation is a super amazing person, and has allowed me to publish a few one-shots of my own handling how Negaduck copes with Christmas this year when the others don't have time for him and his recent physical/psychological torture. This does take place in her "Geronimo Series" universe, so you should probably read that first. Heck, you should read that anyway. It's a great series.)





	1. The Full Picture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RebellingStagnation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebellingStagnation/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Living On A Prayer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300721) by [RebellingStagnation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebellingStagnation/pseuds/RebellingStagnation). 



> Just to re-emphasize, these one-shots take place in RebellingStagnation's "Geronio" Series. You definitely need to read that series first, because this work has more spoilers in it than Swiss cheese does holes.
> 
> And HUGE thanks to Reese's for letting me do this. It's been an amazing emotional and mental exercise, and it's great to get my Negaduck fix.
> 
> Okay, seriously, go read her fic. It's amazing.
> 
> Also, this collection was inspired by a rogue comment of mine where I started messing with what happened to Negaduck during his captivity and torture by some very-spoilery characters. You can still find the comment there, if you want.
> 
> Now go read the rest of the series. Go.
> 
> Do it. I'll wait.

Christmas was… complicated.

Especially this Christmas. No, the day wasn’t here yet, but the Lord of the Negaverse could feel it coming, the cold and snow and static in the air like a shrill whistle before a tornado touched down. And Christmas was a tornado, a tornado of Christmas trees _with feelings_ , black ribbons, little plastic skulls, and gifts. Well, _gift_. Gosalyn hadn’t been brave enough to give him _gifts_ yet. If there was one day out of the entire year - heck, one month -  that was a tornado, Christmas was it, and Gosalyn, that stupid redheaded green-eyed bow-and-arrow-wielding-superhero Gosalyn, was the gale winds kicking it up and throwing it all around.

She loved Christmas. Negaduck hated Christmas.

But he liked her.

He cared about her.

Christmas wasn’t all _that_ bad.

But knowing that she spent it alone – no, not alone, but without him…

It almost made him want to escape back to Oblivion to beat the Christmas pudding right out of Stellar himself.

A smirk kissed his chapped lips – when had the wind picked up? – before he could stop it completely. Of course, the mental image of a big, holly-christened dish of muddy, gelatinous mass neatly carved into his father’s image would bring a smile to anyone’s face. But still, he glanced around the empty streets and tugged his coat more tightly around him, he did have a reputation to uphold. Especially since he was back.

From somewhere – practically everywhere, he heard a small buzz, an electric buzz, and froze, feet mid-step on the ice beneath them. His feathers stood on end and he felt shivers run up his back. Finally, he broke his head free from its trance and twitched it this way and that, looking desperately for the source of the buzz. Some power lines overhead, he realized, were the source. Power lines, for the heaters and lights that the residents would be especially attached to since it had gotten so crazy cold and windy all of a sudden.

He wanted to tear them down, stop the buzzing, and scrub the tingling feeling out of his skin. But Gosalyn had done so much to rebuild – to build the Negaverse while he was gone. She had constructed a system, repaired the water and power, and brought some feeling of permanence to the city. Their city. Her city. Whoever’s city it was, it certainly wasn’t his anymore. It hadn’t been his in a –

Negaduck swore profusely and hissed, collapsing to his hands and knees and gripping his foot with his claws. They had frozen to the ground during his spell, and ripping them up had hit a nerve, a nerve deep down inside his skin. A nerve that stretched up from his sole to his ankle and leg and through his side and into his brain and straight for the trauma he’d locked deep, deep down. He had had three years of running from _him_ to hide the pain and injuries _he_ had done to Negaduck during his brief stint in prison, and had locked the doors with every peg of hatred and rage and commitment and protectiveness he could.

Suddenly, because of a stupid frozen puddle, a stupid humming power line, and a stupid old nerve that would probably never fully heal, the pegs had rattled.

 

* * *

 

Negaduck clenched his fists together again, messaging his palms with his dirty, burnt fingernails. Well, which ones he still had. The touch sent sparks of fire around his curled fists and up his arms, but it was pain that was easy to focus on. And though intense, it was brief, and was a far acceptable substitution for the lacerations on the bottom of his feet, the razor cuts on the back of his legs, which were pressed against the metal chair he'd been wrestled into, and even the bruises from the metal baton. His condition was humiliating at best, but in the loneliness, he let a smirk tug at his sore lips. It _had_ been satisfying to get a few blows in on the guards that had restrained him.

Of course, the only reason Negaduck had even been able to grab and kick at the guards was because _he_ wasn't there. _He_ would have demanded immediate submission, and _he_ would have gotten it. The thick cuts across the bottom of the masked duck's feet were a testament to just how often _he_ got _his_ way.

The cuts had been ripped back open in the fight, and though Negaduck was desperate to lift them off the filthy, cold floor of the isolation cells - he could deal with the pain, but an infection was beyond his current pay grade - his legs shook too badly to continue to wrestle them into the air. In fact, he took another inventory of his body and all his injuries and decided one thing: _everything_ was shaking. In a few days, however, he'd be too weak to do even that. But for now, while he had been gifted with the luxury of being alone, he let himself shake. Maybe if he kept shivering he'd generate some body heat for the first time since... three days ago? Certainly since the waterboarding. And maybe the body heat the shivering generated would help him combat the constant cold settling in. If _he_ wanted Negaduck dead, which the young Mallard seriously doubted, _he'd_ probably get it long before _he_ wanted if Nega didn't get some heat soon.

But Negaduck wouldn't die if _he_ didn't want him to. He was pretty sure someone was pumping nutrients into him while he was unconscious, which was indescribably rude. Not as rude as the dependency and pseudo-control _he_ had "given" Negaduck over their little talks, but still, very rude. Even Negaduck didn't mess with people when they were unconscious. He knew how dangerous it was to mess with a tortured body when the body couldn't respond to him. His captors, however, didn't seem to know this, or care. Or maybe, since Negaduck knew _he_ did, it wasn't necessary that they did as well. _He_ always got exactly what _he_ wanted.

Tending to Gosalyn's injuries was different. It was always different when it came to Gosalyn. Her injuries would need to be cleaned with alcohol and stitched up, joints would need to be reset and bones straightened and splinted, and it was easier to do it to her himself when she was unconscious - or at least asleep - than having to deal with her pained winces and grunts. Ethics be darned. He couldn't stand to see her in pain. But maybe he should let her experience the pain while awake, just once. Or maybe just some. A little. Just enough to be a good lesson to Quiverwing to stop throwing herself into parked cars when the roads were iced over. There were so many lessons he had yet to teach her that that moron Dipwing certainly wasn’t going to.

Like to stop letting him tend to her injuries while unconscious. The amount to which she trusted him ... It was dangerous. If she got used to ignoring him, who knew how many other violators she might ignore -

A shiver and cough cut off Negaduck's thoughts, though they weren't from the cold. The fading feeling in his fingers, however, was.

He was so cold.

Maybe he'd chose the electrocution today instead of the cuts. Of course, his feet were already pretty cut up, so Negaduck was sure _he_ would have to move on to some other option just to keep things fair. Life wasn't interesting without a choice.

After all, _he_ had made one thing very clear throughout all the torture and loneliness:

Negaduck always got what he wanted.

 

* * *

 

 

Cursing, and drawing his Glock for extra safety, Negaduck climbed to his feet and stormed further down the street. The last thing he needed was the citizens in this new St. Canard to know how much of a baby he was. If a little ice was enough to knock the All-Mighty Negaduck off his feet, he didn't stand a chance at reclaiming his throne.

His body had healed while trapped in Oblivion. The cuts on his feet were scarred over and rough. The bruises, cuts, scrapes, burns, and whatever else he had gone through had had more than three years to heal.

And besides, he was Lord of the Negaverse. The Crime Master. Singular Ruler of St. Canard, both of them. Public Enemy Number 1 of one and King and Ruler of his own. He had a city of criminals that would leap when he snapped his fingers, a partner that had turned this, and countless other universes over looking for him, and his sworn enemy was Darkwing Duck.

Okay, not his biggest accomplishment, but still. Worth noting.

The point was, he was NEGADUCK. He was there, and _he_ was not.

And Negaduck didn't have _scars_.


	2. Cold

He should give in and wear his winter parka. The cold this winter was bitter and out for vengeance. It seemed like the entire city was out to get Negaduck, to punish him for his absence last year. He wasn’t entirely sure why, their state of living had certainly improved while he was gone, but the looks the citizens had given him as he paraded his presence up and down the streets had turned almost … hostile.

Besides, if anyone in the world thought that he didn’t deserve Christmas this year, it was Negaduck. For six years he and Gosalyn had worked at figuring out this whole “Christmas” and “Holiday” and “tradition” thing. Six years. That was, what, a third of her life? An entire third of her life devoted to helping a blockhead like him be just a little less ... hostile.

And what had he done for her? Gotten himself a one-way ticket to Oblivion.

Negaduck slammed his kitchen chair out of his way with a snarl. The thing clattered sideways and he glared at it. Lopsided, off-kilter, off-balance, turned-over, up-turned, thrown out, tossed aside, discarded, destroyed, desperate, useless.

He wiggled his fingers while glaring at the lifeless chair. A year ago, he would have grunted and grit his teeth so hard he worsened a crack in one of them, and then shoved some snow down his throat to numb the pain, or, just to annoy Quiverwing, munched on an icicle, only further destroying his teeth but numbing the pain at the same time. But a year ago was a long time ago. If there was anything his torture had taught him, he didn’t like being cold.

And he would be darn sure to never go through it again. But first – he grabbed the chair by one leg like it was a wounded animal and dragged it to the front yard. A nice bonfire would warm his spirits.

 

* * *

 

 

Cold and must. That’s what he felt. His head and balance felt soft and squishy, like they were covered in mold, and he had mushrooms growing on the back of his tongue. He barely felt the cold anymore, mostly because – like most things – familiarity had evolved their relationship. The word “cold” was lost to him. Instead, his fingers turned to marble. Had he decided on “marble”? Was that it? In all reality, he felt more like a chunk of abandoned concrete, but there was too much concrete in his life currently. He was all too familiar with concrete. And unless he wanted to lose himself and dissolve into the dingy, musty floor, he needed to be something softer, lighter, tougher. Marble was smooth. A well carved marble statue was a treasure, even for Negaduck. It was a thing of beauty. Yes, he had called it beauty. And he’d call it that again. You weren’t supposed to touch things made out of marble. That's why he collected them.

And it was the same thing that made every time his father touched him just another crime the invincible duck had committed. Marble wasn’t supposed to be touched, but inspected and admired.

He wasn’t concrete. His father was concrete. Bland, boring, insignificant concrete.

Negaduck was marble.

… But at the end of the day, he was still cold.

“No,” he said. “I’m too cold for your water games.”

“Games would imply that one found pleasure in them,” Stellar sheathed his arms behind his back. “And these aren’t _my_ games. _You’re_ the one that kept choosing them.”

“I misspoke,” what he wouldn’t give to keep his jagged teeth from chattering right now, “I meant to say, ‘the waterboarding’.”

“No,” Stellar sighed through his nose, “you didn’t.” Negaduck watched him move to the back wall, from which he grabbed a length of rope Negaduck had certainly been eyeing these last few… however long he had been there. Picking it up like it weighed little more than a few sheets of paper, Stellar returned and handed it to Negaduck. The cord was thick and heavy in his hands, but Negaduck held it steady while Stellar pulled his pocket knife from his jacket. “Cut however much from it you’d like.”

His fingers tapped the cord for a moment while the masked mallard considered his options. Having made up his mind, he twisted the rope around until he found the end, unwound about two feet of it, and presented Stellar with it. His father handed him the knife and Negaduck worked to cut the thick rope, fraying the edges as little as possible. But the knife was small and fragile, so the cut wasn’t as clean as they’d like.

To their credit, they both preferred a clean, precise job when possible.

Finally, after sawing it through, he held the knife, his desired length, and the rest, and frowned up at Stellar. The older duck took it all, replaced the rest of the length on the wall, and surveyed Negaduck’s piece in his hands.

“Interesting choice,” he commented, and Negaduck tried to keep his eyes from too obviously searching the taller duck’s gray suit for any sign of the suddenly missing knife. “Around your bill, then. And if it’s too loose, I’ll double the pressure. Or I might add to the very Pollock-esque work already done to your disgusting mouth-piece.”

Negaduck actually felt reassured when the knife flashed back into his vision. Nodding his understanding, he took the rope and tied it around his own bill, wiggling it around a little to keep it from his nostrils so he could still breath.

It wasn’t an unusual practice in the criminal world, muzzling ducks and other birds. The shape of their flat-topped bills – especially water fowl – made the muzzle extremely effective, and the benefit of potentially cutting off air was just an added bonus. Ducks and geese generally had issues with their sinuses and breathing because of their bill shapes anyway, so anyone who had been muzzled, particularly when it was done poorly, had experienced the horror of slowly suffocating.

Negaduck had been muzzled before, countless times. There was a secret fetish within some people groups of doing just that thing to their victims. He wondered sometimes if his father was one of those people. But the humiliation, discomfort, and trauma of suffocating while the bristles scratched and picked at his bill and sensitive nostrils was enough for Negaduck to swear to never do it to anyone else.

Not even he was that cruel.

Once the muzzle was in place, having re-tied it a few times to make sure it was tight enough to stay where he secured it and away from his nostrils, he dropped his hands. Stellar stepped around him, surveying his work, and finally flicked his small blade under the cord to check any give it might have had.

There wasn’t any, and Negaduck lamented the bristles that were going to get lodged in the cut and probably scar. Or get infected.

“Well done,” nodded Stellar. He put the knife back in his suit jacket, Negaduck watching the motion from start to completion, and moved to the other end of the room. There was a single faucet there, not a sink, but a faucet, and he turned the water on. The cold flow immediately zapped what warmth there was in the room away, and filled the air with another layer of humidity. Cold and sharp humidity. “Remove your coat, but not your turtleneck. I find no pleasure in seeing just how scrawny you really are.”

His expression partially hidden by the rope, and with Stellar on the other side of the dingy, dark basement, Negaduck smirked.

There he had it.

This _was_ a game to Stellar.

Negaduck did as instructed and frowned at the yellow material in his hands. Where was he supposed to put it? Would they need it later? Should he move it out of the way?

And if he wasn’t muzzled, he could have asked.

Deciding for a compromise, Negaduck set the coat against the bars of his cell, but still within a step’s reach. He instinctively rolled the sleeves of his red turtleneck up to his elbows, surveying the bruises that were forming all around his arms and wrists. This was the first time he had dared take his coat off, or had been instructed to do so, so the bruises spotting him like a topographical map of the Himalayas were untouched territory.

In the crook of his elbow he saw a small pin prick, with a deep bruise around it.

So, his suspicions of an IV had been right.

Darn knob.

“Whenever you’re ready, come take a nice refreshing shower,” Stellar motioned to the faucet that barely passed Negaduck’s hips. “But be sure to replace your coat quickly before the moisture escapes, and mind the rope. You know how it tightens when wet. If you think you’ve experience cold before, my boy, I’m afraid it’s just another lesser dear old Daddy will have to teach you.”

Darn psychopathic knob.

 

* * *

 

 

The fire was roaring, but with only the small amount of kindling, it wouldn’t last long. Negaduck hurried back inside and dug his parka from the closet – where he had finally found it after checking his room, Gosalyn’s room, the basement, the kitchen, and the back porch – and shrugged it on. Nice and safe in his hornet-yellow winter-coat, he let the flame burn, hot and bright. There must have been more oil on that chair than he thought. But he wasn’t about to complain. The heat was good at chasing away the chills that rattled him.

It also kept the cold out.


	3. Mold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of a 3-part one-shot. I know, kind of counter intuitive, but the angst will come. Don't you worry about a thing.

Negaduck didn't hate cats.

He hated pets. Stinky, furry, get-under-your-feet pets. Pests that moped around and expected you to clean up after them and feed them and LOUDLY reminded you when you didn't. Evolution had come so far, but those stupid, helpless parasites had totally missed the bus.

It's why he never had any pets. It's why Little pin-curled Gosalyn would never have any pets.

They were useless. Pointless. A nuisance.

But he didn't hate cats.

Mold had been a cat, and he never hated Mold.

But Mold had also never been a pet.

 

* * *

 

His father had heard him say something about "mold" and had hit him for being so unappreciative. Not only was he  _not_  contributing to the home to begin with, but he dared insult his father's ability to sustain it?

They had the cleanest, nicest, prettiest little home in the block. And Drakey should remember that the next time he wanted to raid the fridge or track mud up the front steps or leave his laundry all over his room.

None of the other children his age every disrespected their father or homes like that.

The kind of slob Drakey was, it would be a miracle if he ever managed to keep a roof over his own head one day, without it collapsing down on top of him from neglect.

Maybe that would be a cosmic mercy to themselves. Killing Drakey.

If he didn't like his home, he could always go live somewhere else.

Remember  _that_  next time he decided to complain about it.

The hits had hurt a lot. But if he was lucky, Stellar would had gotten it out of his system before he got drunk again, and wouldn't remember how his son had insulted him.

If he was lucky.

But little Drakey doubted it.

"Tough luck, Mold," the 6-year-old said, watching the cat eat the few pickings from the trash Drakey could pull before his mother threw them out. "Poppa doesn't like your name. And I think it's bad luck to change a stray's name, but we don't have much of a choice."

He was sat on the back step, hunched over with his arms wrapped around his knees. Drakey knew he was small, he wasn't allowed to not know, but on days like this, when his baseball hats couldn't hide the ruffled feathers on the sides of his head, and pristine, white feathers all too eagerly betrayed bruises, he wished he was small enough to disappear. He wished he could be like Mold.

Mold, the scrawny tabby gnawing on some lasagna, was very good at vanishing. She would show up for dinner, Drakey would sometimes hear her scratching at his window at night, she was once laying comfortably on their mailbox when he got off the school bus, and his mother once caught Mold sniffing around the trash, but whenever his dad would stir, she'd scamper away into the night, leap over their fence, and would be gone.

Besides, it wasn't like he had  _named_  her mold. It was an insult if anything. Momma had suggested he call her something besides "the cat." If he was scared what his father would do to the cat, then Drakey couldn't let him find out about the cat. And her one green eye had gross, sick puss coming from it when she first showed up, so Drakey thought "mold" would be a nice discreet nickname. "Mold" wasn't the name of a cat. "Mold" wouldn't get him in trouble.

He was wrong. He was always wrong.

The back door opened and Drakey flinched and spun around, instantly on his feet. His father punished him if he allowed anyone to sneak up on him. Mold just kept chewing on the lasagna.

"Momma," Drakey greeted, and Ana smiled. Over his shoulder, she spied the cat, and let out a small, pleasantly surprised sound.

"Is this Mold?" she knelt down, the cat's one eye judging her.

"Yes," Drakey replied, eyes switching between the two. "I fed her scraps from dinner. I'm sorry I stole from you and snuck around behind you. Your food is very good."

A chuckle that failed to reach Ana's eyes came out of the duck, soft and sad, and she sat down, patting the porch beside her. Drake obediently sat next to her on his legs, back upright and proper.

"I might need to change her name."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Poppa doesn't like me talking about mold. But, isn't that bad luck?" Drakey aimed impossibly blue eyes at his mother. "Changing someone's name? Even if it's just a stray cat."

Mold made a sound and Drakey's attention flicked back to her quickly.

"No offense, but you  _are_  just a stray cat. We've talked about this."

"I don't think it's bad luck," Ana shook her head, watching Mold sit back and begin to clean herself after the meal. The sun was beginning to set, and shadows stretched towards them across the yard.

"If you can't be sure then I won't risk it," Drakey said. "Mold has had enough bad luck in her life. Just look at her eye."

"I can't, it's not there!"

"I meant the bad one."

They sat for a moment more, before Drakey finally stood, making Mold flinch. She stood as well, lifted her tail, and padded across the lawn and to the fence, disappearing into the darkness.

"Goodbye, Mold," Ana waved. "I'm glad  _someone_  here likes my lasagna."

"I like your lasagna," Drakey replied. "I took a few different scraps for her. I'm not sure which ones she would -"

"Drakey, darling, I was just kidding."

"Oh. I misunderstood."

Ana nodded and looked back across their darkening yard.

"...Why do you think she... sticks around?"

Ana glanced up to her son. His expression was dark and focused, as if he hadn't been asking about the cat.

"Because you helped her. Cats," Ana motioned in Mold's direction, "live by favors and keeping even. You've fed that cat, so she sticks around in case she can ever help you and repay the favor."

"I didn't do it as a favor."

"Then why did you do it?"

Drakey squirmed and scratched absently as a rough spot under his long sleeves. His feathers would grow back, they always did, the the process seemed to take more and more time every time it had to happen. Sensing Drakey's discomfort, Ana continued.

"Anyway, it's how they work. The Laws of the Strays. Now," she stood and faced her son, "better get the rest of the trash out before your father gets home."

"You're -" Drakey blinked, "not upset I stole some scraps?"

"What scraps?" With a smile, Ana kissed her son's forehead, who managed to not flinch away when her hand reached for him, and headed back inside. He frowned after her. Did she need more rest? Something was having a negative affect on her memory.

When he walked back inside, however, he did flinch.

"Oh, Stellar!" Ana greeted from the front of the home, and Drakey hurried to the trash, grabbing the plastic handles and pulling and tugging at the bag. It refused to budge from the trash can, and he could hear Stellar getting closer.

"Darling," Ana snagged the taller duck, "what's wrong, dear? You're back so late tonight."

"Am I to be held to a schedule like your snot-nosed son?"

"No, dear," she replied softly, "but I worried about you. Did something... happen?"

"It's the - it's just business," Stellar replied, his voice softening a degree.

The trash bag made a kind of hissing sound as it finally began to pull away from the trash can. Drakey could hear his parents share a quiet and tense conversation in the living room, and yanked the bag, which finally came free of the bin. Across the floor he pulled it quickly, and none too soon.

"Drakey!!" Stellar called, storming into the house. The back door slipped quietly closed just as the ashy duck entered the kitchen.

Drakey sat the bag down on the back porch to tie the straps closed, hoping he could -

Someone was watching him. Straightening, the feathers on the back of his neck standing up, Drakey looked around, scanning the top of the fence and the dark, quiet street around him. Unable to find anyone, he finished tying the plastic and hauled it around the corner of the home and to the trashcans -

Drakey squawked in surprise at the sight of a two shadows standing near their trashcans, mingling with something in their hands. "Hey!" Drakey cried, dropping the bag and stepping towards the intruders. They flinched and looked up at him quickly, staring. Their failure to scramble away in fear only further enraged the duckling. "Get away from our stuff!" he called again, and saw a glint of metal being drawn from one figure's coat while the other urged him to leave.

"Drakey!" called his father's voice, and Stellar appeared from no where, tossing Drakey behind him and attacking the intruders, fists flying. They managed to scramble away and hurried into a car that screeched onto the curb and quickly vanished into the neighborhood. Stellar chased after and growled at them, half standing on the curb and half in their front yard.

"Stellar!" Ana cried, and hurried after her husband, Drakey following her. He froze where he stood at the glint of the metal pistol in Stellar's hands. "Honey," Ana clung to him, "are you all right? Who were those men, Stellar?"

"Drakey!" barked the duck and Drakey hurried over, presenting himself to his father.

"Y- yes sir?"

"What happened?" Drakey flinched when Stellar knelt before him, grabbing him in long, cold hands. "What happened?!"

"I - I was taking the trash out, sir, when I saw those men at the trashcans. I called at them, tried to scare them away like you would, but they - they -"

"Stop your stammering and tell me what they did!" Stellar shook him, and Drakey heard his mother call his name.

"I - I'm sorry, sir! They just ran off when you chased them."

"What were they doing?"

"I don't know, sir. They - they were holding things in their hands, I think."

"You think?" He shook Drakey again. "Well, were they or weren't they?!"

"I - I - I -!"

"Stellar!" Ana called, finally putting herself between the two. "Was that what you were talking about? Stellar, are we safe here? Is my family safe here?!"

After glaring at the trembling boy for another moment, Stellar stood and took Ana into his arms.

"You know that I won't let anyone hurt you, Ana," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "You know I won't. We'll be safe."

Drakey's eyes trained on the pistol still in his father's hands as Stellar turned himself and Ana away, ushering her into the safety of the home.

"Drakey," he snapped, grabbing the boy's attention, "there is a bag of trash sitting in my yard! Get it cleaned up!"

"Yessir," muttered Drakey, moved around the back of the house while his parents took the front door. He passed the trashcans and stopped, eyeing them wearily. Just what had those men been doing?

"Mrow," he heard, and leaped a step backwards. Mold poked her head out from behind the trashcans, big, green eye looking up at him. Drakey slowly knelt with a sigh and the cat padded to him, brushing her head under his extended hand. He wasn't sure how to pet her, but she always seemed happy enough to do the work for him, so they sat there, together, for a quiet moment. 

Mold wasn't his pet.

But he wasn't going to rename her.

 

* * *

 

 _"Meooow!!"_  Negaduck heard, and stopped, ears cocked. It was bitterly cold out tonight, like it had been all month, but business like usual didn't consider the weather, or Holidays, when filling out its schedule.

It hadn't been hard to spread word and reclaim the obedience and loyalty of the Negaverse when he returned after his three year absence. The Fearsome Foursome fell back in line like predicted, the other lesser criminals all reaffirmed their belief in his return or denied their doubts accordingly, and the citizens remained in limbo until Negaduck and Quiverwing (but mostly Quiverwing) outlined just how things were going to work around there from then on.

Political Quiverwing, just like always.

Negaduck was Lord of the Negaverse. He owned it, commanded it, and controlled it. Nothing in that city happened without his permission, and nothing happened without his knowledge. So, if anyone wanted to try to follow in his footsteps and start up a new criminal career, he gave them a piece of advice: Don't. Don't touch his crime ring or his machine, and they'd be fine.

Don't anger Negaduck and Negadcuk wouldn't kill you.

He might burn everything you own down to the ground just for fun, but you would still have your measly little life at the end of it.

Consider it a Christmas gift.

The minds of the Negaverse, clearly, hadn't changed that much, but the city had. A new skyline, new electric wires, new roads, new means of transit, new center of activity with that stupid marketplace, new...

Well, everything.

And Negaduck was at a three-year learning curve when it came to re-orientating himself, and so far he'd only called Quiverwing for directions once.

And that didn't count. He wanted to know where the "Guns-N-Hoses" shop had been moved to,  _not_  where he was in relation to it.

Two totally different things.

So, even though he would be very happy to just blow it all up and rebuild it according to it's old layout, a layout he actually knew, he dedicated his nights to rememorizing the map of the city. It was infuriating work. As soon as he found a corner he recognized, there would be a new road or missing storefront just in time to throw him off.

That thought of just blowing it all into the Bay and starting over had tickled his fancy many, many nights.

And in the rush and joy of this Holiday season, he figured he should finally organize a meeting with S.H.U.S.H. He needed to reaffirm that they understood just who he was.

Or, he guessed, establish who he was at all. S.H.U.S.H. had been one of those things he had been working for months to track down and organize a meeting with, even if he did keep delaying actually setting said meeting up.

It had nothing to do with his slowly growing confidence in how the new St. Canard worked. He'd just been too busy to organize the darn thing.

Busy growing his confidence in how the new St. Canard worked.

He was out there that night, scoping out possible ren-de-vous locations when he heard the meow.

He didn't hate cats, but he certainly wasn't about to detour from his path home to investigate a single "meow".

He would, however, investigate the laughs of some no-good teenagers.

Teenagers he did hate.

The alleyway was filled with exactly what he was expecting: a bunch of no-good teens who thought wearing far below the recommended amount of clothing for weather like this made them look cool (besides literally making them so), and some orange tabby in their hands. Or rather, at their mercy, as they tried to burn the thing's fur off.

So, they liked fire. Negaduck liked fire too.

He liked fire a lot.

"Hey Little Rascals," he barked, leaning one hand on the entrance to the alley and crossing his ankles under him. "Sure is cold out, wouldn't you say? On a cold, freezing night like this, now I don't know about you, but nothing lights my spirits right up like a little -" he struck a match on the bricks he leaned on, inspecting the flame as it consumed the thin stick, "- bonfire. What do you say, chumps? How's about a little - heat?"

Tossing the flame forward, the kids flinching, Negaduck leaped towards them.

They grunted hilariously as he kicked and clawed at them. "Maybe if you had worn some appropriate clothing," he stood triumphantly over their shriveled, cowardly mass, "those wouldn't have hurt so much. Now make like the wind and BLOW!"

The teens nodded and grunted, some even barked out a few "Mr. Negaducks", and scrambled away, falling and tripping over each other in their haste.

Negaduck rolled his eyes, muttering something about "don't call me that", drew another match from his pocket, and lit it. He turned and inspected the cat he had driven the teens away from, and found it in the corner of the alley, curled up and glaring at him. "Take it easy, Sylvester," said the masked duck softly, tiptoeing to it and scooting one wooden crate away from the thing to inspect it better.

There weren't any burns yet, so the cat was mainly just ruffled and very, very unhappy.

"Bad news, friend," Negaduck sighed, shaking the match out and standing. "I think you'll live. Now get out of here before you freeze."

Cape spinning, he marched towards the front of the alley and - looking both ways - continued his determined path home.

In this case, he needed to take his own advice.

It was friggin' freezing.

**_To be Continued..._ **


	4. Hanging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of my current 3-part one-shot.

Somehow, the day of Negaduck's meeting with S.H.U.S.H. wasn't that cold. Or maybe it still was cold, but compared to the frigid temperature of the month so far - he checked the thermostat and yes, it was literally frigid - it didn't  _feel_  cold.

But it was still freezing. And certainly cold enough for Negaduck to wear his heavy winter parka.

All this cold and no snow to show for it.

He arrived at the meeting place, the Wacky Mackerel Tuna Factory on the edge of the Bay, half a hour early, just like usual. Back in the Primeverse, the Wacky Mackerel was his favorite hideout, but he hadn't used the smelly factory's Negaverse counterpart yet. The Negaverse, however, had changed, and a familiar setting would be the advantage he was going to need when facing off with the spy organization.

Other villains he could deal with. Tuskernini, Splatter, the gross mole guy, they were laughable. The "Fearsome Foursome", though still pathetically malleable, were his strongest workers. He kept them on a closely supervised leash. There was a tier between the two groups, were Ammonia and Steelback sat, lower-class lackeys with higher-class potential that he kept in line by raw fear alone.

These idiots he could deal with. Flattery, intimidation, threats, bargaining... they weren't hard to handle once he figured out their code, which he had. The encyclopedia was kept fresh and updated in the back of his mind.

But then there was S.H.U.S.H. A spy ring that put even F.O.W.L. of the Primeverse to shame. These morons took their job a little - okay, a LOT too seriously, and that was what made them dangerous. Like Negaduck, they had a reverence and respect for the art of criminal action.

Well, okay. They just liked causing mayhem  _almost_  as much as he did, but cared a LOT about how it was done. Their scientific tools, surgical methods, and rigid, political structure were enough to drive him nuts, no matter how much he related to their affinity for chaos, but he couldn't just ignore them. He needed to keep them reigned in. 

Gosalyn had tried to teach him how to handle things politically, but when she wasn't around, which was often these days, he just stuck to his guns and snarled a lot.

Good grief, another pun. He needed a vacation.

And after tonight he would need a bath. Sure, he loved the smell of rotting fish, like he loved the smell of gasoline and fresh plastic smoke, but that didn't mean he wanted his house smelling like tuna.

The other scents he wouldn't mind though. Wonder if there were any "Cries of your Victims" candle sets out there. That might be worth looking into.

It was so cold he was thinking about  _candles_.

Something outside splashed around loudly, and Negaduck latched his attention to it, feathers bristling. Standing from his post among the overhead rafters, he leaped to the splintered floor below - good thing he lost most all feeling in his feet - and stomped outside. The factory sat out over the Bay, with a dock stretched around it and reaching further over the water. The thought of the Bay's return had been something he fought long and hard against, but Gosalyn - stupidly political Gosalyn - had said that the people wanted the Bay back, if for no other reason than to cover up the scent of the channel's rotting underbelly. Of course he liked the scent of metal and seaweed and a successful economy rotting at the bottom of the muddy, sandy trench, but Gosalyn had argued with him about it for an entire month. And heck, if she, with her own crippling fear of the thing, fought this hard for it? He had finally given in. That is, they reached a compromise. The city could have their Bay back, but if he caught  _one_  stinking little worm trying to swim across it and leave his city (Gosalyn had insisted that people weren't trying to leave St. Canard in mass exodus anymore but he wasn't about to believe her) he'd drain it all again and dump the local sewage treatment into it just for good measure.

So far, they hadn't had a single issue with anyone trying to escape. Heck, the water was so gross and diseased with all the rotting carcasses in it, no one even dared touch the stuff. A few of them even grumbled about its return. It made Negaduck royally ticked, but Gosalyn had told him to give the city time. And the Bay time. It needed to cleanse itself out.

Even he saw that it was pretty gross.

But now, standing at the edge of the building, huddled up behind the door frame against the deathly cold water that would pull and seep the heat and life out of him like a dark, dying star, he shivered, and tugged his coat closer. He hated that stupid Bay. And he hated that he had completely forgotten Gosalyn had gotten it refilled when setting up  _this place_  for his meeting with S.H.U.S.H.

Turning on his heel, he marched back inside, hands trying to scrub the sound of the waves out of his ears. He wasn't scared of water, he couldn't afford to be with Gosalyn's own terror so close at her heels, and he had never experienced issues with it before, unless it was trying to kill or further haunt his baby girl, but now... after Stellar, and the water boarding, and the freezing cold showers, and sensation of cold and damp feathers making him want to rip his own feathers out and tear his skin off, he didn't particularly prefer it. But he wasn't about to tell Gosalyn that. He wasn't about to tell Quiverwing Quack that he didn't want the Bay refilled because, A, he wanted this city to be the one where she was wasn't surrounded by her biggest fear, and B, he didn't want to hear the water. Feel or touch the water. He wanted nothing to do with that water.

And yet here he was, waiting for a meeting with potentially his most dangerous and least cooperative business associate with his father driving pin needles into every inch of his skin.

This was a really bad idea.

 

* * *

 

Having someone trying to get the drop on Stellar at home had been enough for him to forget about punishing Drakey for not doing his chores, but looking back, the boy thought he might prefer the punishment. Stellar became hyper-paranoid. He didn't let Ana open the windows, draw the curtains, or go outside unless Stellar was with her. Drakey, of course, was expected to attend school like normal, and complete his chores, even hauling the garbage outside every night, but all outside activities were strictly forbidden. There would be no playing - or, whatever Drakey did instead of his chores, but he was expected to stay inside throughout the beautiful summer weather, be quiet and still, and not disturb his mother. This meant lots of reading, quietly working on homework, and the boy even cleaned his room a few different times just to keep busy.

It also meant no Mold.

Of course, the cat hadn't shown up very often lately, not since Drakey started ignoring her "mrows" and gentle scratching at his window. She was still looking for a chance to repay his favor, but he wasn't making it very easy for her.

But lately, she wasn't the only one scratching at Drakey's window at night.

He tried not to slouch at breakfast and answer clearly and respectfully when addressed, but he hadn't been sleeping very well. Not since seeing the shadows of dangerous men outside his window..

"Drakey!" Stellar snapped, and the boy flinched, looking up quickly.

He blinked, and then replied. "Yes sir?"

"Do I set a lot of expectations on you, Drakey?"

The boy blinked again, but this time with confusion. Was this a trick question? "No, sir?"

Stellar sighed, and ran a long hand down his face. "Do we answer questions with questions in this house, Drakey?"

"No, sir."

"Good. You remembered one basic rule. Can you name me a few others?"

Drakey frowned, his eyebrows twisting. "Do not speak unless spoken to. Speak clearly and firmly. Do not make a mess, do not leave a mess, and do not disrespect the home or you and Momma. Do not ask for favors or permission, beneficial tasks will be expected. Do not ask for things. Complete tasks and chores without complaining or whining, and do them promptly and - and do them well. Do not expect a second chance or expect an apology to be accepted, but always apologize and make recommence for mistakes."

"Recompense," Stellar, who had rested his chin on the back of his folded hands, rolled his eyes.

"Sir?"

"The word is 'recompense,' boy. You've known that rule your entire life but you still mess it up."

"I misspoke," Drake lowered his eyes to his cold oatmeal. "Do I keep going?"

"No, no," Stellar sat back and spread jam across his English muffin, "I was merely judging to see if you've managed to supersede my expectations and turned completely dumb overnight. But alas, you can't even fulfill your own destiny of idiocy to your best ability."

"What's wrong, dear?" asked Ana, and Drakey glanced up at her. "You've been very quiet all day."

Drakey watched her for a moment, snuck a glance up to Stellar, who was judging him with one eyebrow arched against a receding hairline, and shifted a bit in his seat. "I wanted to talk to you and Poppa about something, but I wasn't sure if I should bother you. You both have enough trouble trying to provide for me as it is."

"True as that may be," Stellar placed the muffin back on his plate and cleaned his hands off with his napkin, "what was it you'd like to say?"

Drakey swallowed a quick drink of his water before sitting forward, pressing his hands nervously into his lap. "I think I had a bad dream last night that some men were outside my window. I tried everything I could to wake myself up, but I couldn't even do that."

"You had a bad dream?" asked Ana, dropping her own silverware.

"What did these men look like?" Stellar asked, his tone sharp and making the boy flinch.

"There were two of them, with heavy coats and hats. They looked like the men you chased away from the trashcans a couple of days ago. I drew them this morning when I woke up," he lied. "If you'd like to see it."

"Yes," Stellar nodded. "Go fetch the drawing."

Doing as he was told, Drakey offered a quiet "excuse me," and hurried to his room. Okay, he _had_ drawn the men like he had said, but it hadn't been this morning when he had woken up. It had been that night, after they finally left, as the proof he would need in the morning if he had dreamed the whole thing or not. He hurried back into the kitchen with the drawing and handed it to Stellar. The two figures were peering into his window, silhouetted against the curtains, and Drakey had added speech bubbles above their heads to indicate that they had been speaking. The words, however, were just scribbles.

"What did they say?" asked Stellar, letting Ana cautiously take the drawing pad from his hands.

"I can't remember, sir. And I couldn't understand them, anyway."

"Well, which was it?"

"I couldn't understand them."

Taking in a deep sigh through his nose, Stellar sat back in his chair, steeping his fingers under his bill. He glanced down at Drakey, who was waiting for direction. "I've lost my appetite," the older duck said, handing his plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, and muffin to him. "Throw this out while you clear the table."

"Yes sir," the boy nodded, taking the plate to the trashcan. Stellar rose and summoned Ana, both heading into the living room for a private conversation. Once the table had been cleared, he lifted the trash bag out of the bin and hauled it to the back porch.

He screamed. He screamed and choked on it, carelessly dropping the bag.

"Momma, Poppa!" he cried, frozen to his spot. "Momma!! Poppa!!" he screamed again, voice catching in his throat halfway through. His heart pounded away in his ears, but he thought he heard the sound of the backdoor creaking open behind him, and suddenly felt hands grabbing him. Drakey cried and kicked out, Ana holding him against her chest, quickly, trying to calm the terrorized child.

"Get back inside, Ana!" Stellar snapped, watching the scene from a few steps further into the yard than Drakey had made it. "NOW!" Ana finally pulled Drakey from his roots on the porch and pulled him inside, the boy hiccuping and coughing in her hold.

Once inside, she closed the backdoor firmly and knelt down before Drakey, cupping his face and trying desperately to get bleary, blinking eyes to focus on her instead of the vision that still danced before them.

"Drakey? Drakey, darling! Drakey, darling, it's okay, it's okay! Breathe with me, baby, come on, breathe! There you go, darling, there you go!"

His chest having loosen enough to suck in quick breathes of air, Drakey blinked up at his mother, his hands hovering in the air, twitching and pawing at invisible comfort.

"Momma," he whimpered, impossibly blue eyes switching back and forth between her own, "Momma, it was them, wasn't it?"

This time, Ana blinked. "What?"

"Those men I saw last night. They hung Mold, didn't they? It was them, wasn't it?"

With a sad sigh, Ana averted her gaze, her hands dropping from his shoulders. "I don't know, Drakey."

Her touch gone, Drakey lowered his hands, feeling the grip and surge of panic begin to drain out of him. It was replaced with something raw. Feral.

Dangerous.

His eyes flashed, and he pivoted, brushing away the curtains to see his father cut Mold's body from the tree.

"I do."

_**To be continued...** _


	5. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of the "Cat" three-part one-shot.

Drakey felt the weight of the pistol in his hands, balancing the gun in his open palms, too scared to grip the thing and risk touching something he shouldn't.

Heck,  _that_  he was already doing. If Poppa found him in there, he'd be dead. No threats or suffering, just dead.

But Mold was dead. Hung like a rat to die for no reason. He didn't know why those men changed his Poppa and made his Momma worry so much and locked them all inside. But Mold was just a cat. Just an unlucky one-eyed cat that didn't have a name or a friend in the world.

She must have been so scared.

She was innocent.

But they still killed her.

Poppa had used this pistol to scare away the men. Drakey would need it to protect Momma when Poppa wasn't around.

"What do you think you are doing?" Stellar snapped, and Drakey almost leaped out of his skin. He wiggled his fingers to make sure they stayed away from the metal, and clenched his jaw. Then, he turned, and Stellar's eyes flashed something sharp and cold when he saw the gun in the boy's hands.

"I was looking at your pistol, sir," Drakey replied, keeping his eyes focused on his Poppa's face. "You used this to scare away those men and I thought I could use it to scare them away and protect Momma when you're not here. I - I could help you."

"Oh could you?" Stellar sheathed his arms behind him, keeping a careful watch on the pistol in the boy's hands. "With that?"

"Y-yes sir."

"So you're telling me to my face that you're prepared to shoot to kill any trespassers? You'd pull the trigger and kill a man?"

Drakey slowly lowered his eyes to the gun, his hands beginning to tremble.

"Yes." Grabbing the weapon with both hands like he had seen his father doing, keeping his finger well away from the trigger, Drakey aimed it somewhere between the two ducks. He raised his chin and met his father in the eyes. "I don't want anything to happen to Momma like it did to that cat."

Stellar had brought his arms back before him when Drakey grabbed the gun, and he watched carefully now, the sight of his young son holding the weapon and confirming that yes, he'd be willing to use it.

In fact, to a veteran like Stellar, something about the hitch in Drakey's voice betrayed his true intentions.

Drakey  _intended_  to use it.

"Fascinating," Stellar said. Drakey kept the gun low, and though ever fiber in him shook, the gun was steady. His hands weren't quite right around the grip, and the gun was by far too big for him, he could barely touch the trigger even if he wanted, but the pistol wasn't aimed at Stellar, or into the air, but neatly and responsibly to the floor, the safety still on.

Everything he was doing was right.

It's why Stellar hit him.

Drakey yelped and nearly dropped the gun, the weight of it practically dragging him to the floor. Stellar didn't wait for him to get his footing before slapping the boy across the other side of his face.

"If you're suddenly so brave," Stellar shouted, voice big and loud, shoving the boy backwards, "then be brave! Don't lie to me and don't you dare lie to yourself, boy!" Drakey weighed little, and was easy to pick up and toss down the hallway, the gun dragging on the carpet after him like an anchor. "You can't protect your mother if you can't even protect yourself!" Stellar bent over and brought the bottom of one fist down onto Drakey's face, who tried to cover himself with his arms, keeping the infernal weapon in his hands. Stellar brought another fist down, snagged both wrists and pinned them over Drakey's head, punching him once in the abdomen. This brought tears to Drakey's eyes, but he kept his mouth shut, hissing and coughing after the wind was knocked from him. Stellar let his long hand rest on and cover the boy's heaving chest, which pumped up and down with every gasp. The touch applied no pressure but suffocated the panicking child.

Still the gun stayed aimed towards the wall. Even when Stellar released the wrists and let Drakey curl his arms back around his head and face, he kept the gun pointed away from his father.

Stellar shifted his hands and surrounded the boy's throat with them. Immediately Drakey began to kick and hiss, but without the use of his arms, his struggles were useless.

Of course, with Stellar, they were always useless.

To Stellar, the boy was useless.

And now he had touched one of Stellar's guns.

Pretended  _he_  could possibly protect his family.

As if he didn't need Stellar.

"Poppa," whimpered the boy, his movements stilling and eyes rolling back.

"Stellar," said Ana, and both heads looked up at her. Through his blurring vision, red dots creeping in from the corners, Drakey saw his mother smiling down at them. 

She looked like an angel.

Stellar released the tiny neck in his hands too quickly, Drakey plunging into another spell of shock as he nearly drowned in oxygen.

"What have I told you, Ana," the duck straightened, his hands clenching, "about interrupting me when I am disciplining your son?!"

Ana took a half step back, covering herself with her hands. "I - I didn't mean to, Stellar, darling," she chirped in fear, eyes flicking back and forth between her husband and her son. She saw the pistol, and went another shade of white.

"Oh," laughed the other duck, "I think you did, Ana,  _darling_."

"Stah-ahck!" Drakey coughed. Even Stellar blinked and froze on the spot, adrenaline spiking through him. The boy was on his feet, planted between himself and his father, the gun in his shaking hands.

"Drakey," whispered Ana, but Stellar sneered. And he laughed. Drakey's pupils were blown wide in pure, unadulterated rage. There was something burning beneath the darkness, something feral, and furious.

Something  _dangerous_.

Even Stellar recognized that.

So, he drew his own pistol from his waist band and cracked it across Drakey's skull. The boy was unconscious before he hit the carpet, and Ana screamed. She scrambled for him and Stellar pried the gun from his son's quiet hands.

He clipped the safety back on.

He had thought his son was, perhaps, a better person than him. He refused to point the gun at his father, and risk Stellar getting his hands on it, even while being beaten and choked.

He stood up when he thought Ana was in danger. She wasn't, of course. Stellar could and would never harm her. She was his angel.

He hadn't pointed the gun at his father even then. All he had done was turn the safety off.

But that look buried deep behind his eyes, that was what made Stellar knock him out and take and gun and consider buying a lock for it.

It was no longer because Drakey was somehow better or more noble than him. And it wasn't because Drakey had refused to use the gun.

It was because Stellar's gut told him that Drakey wouldn't have needed it.

 

* * *

 

 

All he could hear was the water. Every curse he knew, he aimed at himself.

Negaduck had made a colossal mistake in choosing this place for his meeting with S.H.U.S.H. He had hoped the familiar terrain would be an advantage.

He had also forgotten that ridiculously political Gosalyn had gotten her stupid and hated Bay filled back up with its blasted and currently freezing water, the little do-gooder.

It had already been almost a full 30 minutes since he arrived, and Negaduck buried his hands in his cape to check his weapons. Not to try to hide away the invisible cold and keep them from shaking. He had some time. He should try to run through everything he knew about S.H.U.S.H. before they arrived.

Which wasn't much.

F.O.W.L., for some reason not even he could understand, was evil in both universes. Guess it was in the name. Still the "Fools Operating While Lacking-sense" or whatever it stood for, tried to pull of crimes 24/7 and continued to think they could get away with working outside of Negaduck's reign. F.O.W.L. had never been very willing to cooperate with Negaduck, but he didn't mind much. They always had plenty Eggheads for him to scramble when those meetings didn't go according to plan.

Well, until the day they had injured Quiverwing. That's when he got  _really_  mad.

But like how F.O.W.L. was basically itself between both dimensions, S.H.U.S.H. kept to its own mantra: secrets and politics. Negaduck hadn't even known it existed in this universe until he went looking for it. In fact, it was one of his first orders of business after getting back home from Oblivion.

And it had definitely been the first thing he did without Quiverwing.

No, he had intentionally gone behind her back. He might as well admit it, since here he was, getting himself into a world of mess without any backup. Or anyone even knowing what he was doing.

If S.H.U.S.H. in Dorkwing's dimension had gotten itself to a place of high enough power and influence to keep him as their personal prisoner and to grab the energy and attention of his father, then Negaduck hated to think about just what S.H.U.S.H. was in  _his_  dimension.

And he had had three long years to wonder at the identities of the idiots that had let his father get his hands on him. And three years was a long time to wonder and plan.

So here he was. It had taken him months of sneaking around behind Quiverwing - since when did he need her permission to run his own universe, anyway? - and get enough information just to organize this little get together. And, wrapping his hands back around his middle, digging his claws into his coat, it had probably been the dumbest thing he'd ever done.

A small flash of orange in the far corner of the warehouse caught his attention, and Negaduck frowned, almost lifting from his perch, but the activity of cars pulling up to the factory stopped him. The feathers on the back of his neck bristled. Finally, something was happening.

Negaduck tried to count how many people he was expecting based on the footsteps clobbering up the wooden floors, but a pair of light footsteps and a pair of heavy stomps threw him off the count. He craned his neck as they threw open the front doors of the factory, and stood from his perch, scurrying to another rafter before their eyes could adjust to the darkness. Hitting the wooden plank, he spun around it and ducked low, watching the group shuffle into the big open warehouse. A few of their noses curled at the scent, and Negaduck smirked, his eyes darting around the suited thugs, searching for radios or any concealed weapons. One of the leaders was a monstrously large grizzly bear, who had a wide variety of scars across his face that made Negaduck rolls his eyes. Everyone else thought scars made someone look tough or dangerous. Negaduck just thought it meant you were stupid enough to let your enemy get that close to you.

Speaking of enemies, the actual leader was a tiny, somehow even smaller than himself, balding owl with comically bushy eyebrows and round glasses. He walked ahead of his group, and Negaduck didn't see any weapon on him, but if he was certainly a spy, and anything like the S.H.U.S.H. from the other universe, he no doubtfully had something tucked away somewhere.

The small creature sighed, and Negaduck's ears perked up. "Find him," he said over his shoulder to the bear, who motioned to the others. They spread out and began searching the warehouse, flashlights following the barrels of their guns.

The first place they checked, of course, was the rafters.

Already this was not going to plan.

"We've come just like arranged," the little owl spoke, "and precisely on time, too. If you'd like to keep these discussions civil, I suggest you begin to hold up your side of - oh, there you are."

This little owl didn't seem very disturbed by the loud popping sound the fake stick of dynamite let out after Negaduck tossed it at a suit-wearing clown, and to his credit, the agent himself barely flinched. The explosion the real stick of dynamite Negaduck dropped underneath him did rattle them a little, at least.

"Well, well, well," purred the masked mallard, hands engaged in a slow clap as he strode casually through the smoke and towards his audience. "You put nails in the shoes of your lackeys, over there, or-" choking back his yelp, Negaduck leaped backwards as the floor underneath him collapsed, sending planks and splinters of wood down into the inky, churning water below through the hole the dynamite blasted into it. He felt the humidity soak into his feathers and the warmth leave his body. "Or- are you getting a jump on fitting them for - for -" reevaluating his approach, he stepped back and leaped over the water, landing in a neat tumble with his Glock pointed under the little owl's chin, "for their cement shoes early, Gander?"

The owl blinked at him, eyes shifting from the old gun to the blue eyes that watched him. He clearly didn't expect Negaduck to know his name. And had the idiot Dorkwing not gone blurting it out in front of Negaduck, Heaven knew he wouldn't either.

At least the ball was back in his court.

"Well, this is certainly a surprise, Mr. Negaduck."

Negaduck's shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes with a snort. "Don't call me that," he grumbled, standing and twirling the Glock around his trigger finger.

"Yes, I suppose we aren't that friendly."

"Hah!" barked the duck, producing his chainsaw and revving it loudly, "I'm not even that!"

"But how much are you?" the owl asked, turning to face the taller duck. It almost made Negaduck giddy to see someone looking up to him. It was definitely a power-trip he wasn't ashamed of riding. "You said in your message that you demanded a meeting to discuss..." the owl pulled a notepad from his jacket and squinted at the writing on it after adjusting his glasses, "...'the precise placement of our little party within this providence of Negaduck's possessions'."

Negaduck, who had been mouthing along with the words, flashed a huge smile at the owl when he glanced up at the duck. "Sounds like me," he hauled the chainsaw up over his shoulder, cocking his hips. "Or to put it another way, we're here to examine your further engagement with Estate Negaduck."

This got a deep growl from the bear, and Negaduck glanced at him through half-opened eyes.

"Well, actually," the owl adjusted his glasses again, returning the notepad to his jacket, but Negaduck cut him off.

"Ooh, ooh, how about this one! We're here to review the rightful rank of your respectable-"

"That's enough!" the bear shouted suddenly, and Negaduck slowly blinked. One eyebrow rising, he turned and aimed a long, heavily offended look at the large thug.

"-Racket-"

"I said-!"

"-'round-"

"I do believe-!"

"-my-"

"Will you-!"

"-Reigned-"

"I'm warning you-!"

"REGION!" Screamed the duck, revving his chainsaw suddenly and pressing the blade into the bear's throat. The other agents flinched and drew their guns, aiming them at Negaduck, who kept his focus on the bear underneath his weapon. He snarled down at Negaduck, who flashed a wide, toothy grin.

"You just had to say please," he shrugged, lowering the chainsaw. Then, with a sudden spin of his weapon and cape, one agent standing too close behind Negaduck lost his head with a thick splash of blood. The other agents flinched and quickly pointed their guns at him again, and Negaduck shivered. The warm blood on him melted away his nerves like ice. He wasn't sure why he had been so nervous, anyway. This is exactly what he did, and the blood he smeared on the rim of his fedora as he tugged on it, straightening and facing the small owl, was exactly why he didn't invite Quiverwing along.

He didn't need her permission to run his universe. And if he had the chance to save her from the bloodshed she hated to much, so be it.

But him. _He_ was a monster.

"Well," the owl chirped, nestling his arms behind him, "I see that you aren't, indeed, very friendly, Mr. Mallard. Not in the least."

Negaduck's eyes snapped open. His heart stopped and his hands tingled. He could feel the hot rush of adrenaline spike through him.

Had - had this little turd just used his - just called him - did he -

He should have invited Quiverwing.

"Discussion is over," the duck growled, pivoting and marching back to the door. "You and your little boy band has exactly one day to-"

"Oh, so much like your father," the owl sighed. At this, Negaduck froze. His hands shook. He tightened his grip on the chainsaw.

So many things whirled around in his mind at once he couldn't focus on any of them.

Mr. Mallard

Your father

S.H.U.S.H.

Prison cells

Cold

Damp

Dark

Death

"You know what," he spun around, chainsaw behind him as he bowed courteously to the owl, "I'm afraid I  _was_  being too hasty before in ending our discussion as abruptly as I did. Momma always said," tossing the chainsaw aside, he produced a grenade in each hand, "don't waste words on the dead. Here, giggles," he flicked the pin of both bombs lose and tossed them to the bear, "catch."

The bear yelped and caught the grenades, but Negaduck was already on top of him. One stab into his back, right beneath the shoulder blade and between a couple of ribs, with Negaduck's hunting knife - a hand-me-down gift from Quiverwing - was enough to bring the large agent to his knees. Negaduck rode the bear to the floor, and sunk the knife into one arm. The agent snarled again and Negaduck scooped up the grenade, tossing it to the other agents that were wildly shooting at him.

"N-Negaduck-!" the owl hooted, covering himself in fright. A couple of agents ran for the small owl to protect him, but Negaduck had already drawn his Glock, beheading those that got too close to their Director. "This isn't civil at all!"

"You know what little man?" Negaduck pulled the grappling hook gun he rarely used from its holster on his hip and pointed it to the ceiling. "You're right." The gun fired and the hook took hold of the rafters above, and Negaduck slipped up into the air as twin explosions sounded.

One came from the back of the warehouse where the agents had had sense to toss the grenade, but the other - Negaduck rocked, grabbing the rafters desperately as his grappling hook was knocked loose. The bear, he found the big thug quickly, had cracked open a hole in the floor _with his bare hands_ and tossed the grenade into the water below. The explosion had sent a huge blast of water and debris up into the underside of the building and up through the floor, probably destroying a few support beams, considering how the building rocked.

Okay, definitely destroying a few support beams, considering the gaping hole that been blown open in the middle of the floor, sending a tidal wave of water and splints of rotting wood everywhere as the entire building sagged and turned inward.

Negaduck had escaped most of the blast, but a loose panel had nailed him, nearly knocking him into the churning flood of water and wood. But he clawed at the rafter in his hands, desperately pulling himself onto it and away from the inky cold. The other agents, however, had not been so lucky, and most - after having been swept up in the tidal wave - found themselves suddenly sliding across the floor, the water pulling them all through the gaping hole left in the center of it. The building sagged inward, and the sound of screaming, drowning agents just barely over-shouted the rushing, angry water and groaning of old wood.

Up in the rafters, backing away from the collapsed floor with shaking strides, Negaduck desperately sunk his claws into the wood he clung to, eyes clenched closed against the sight around him. He could feel the water seeping into his coat, and the way it sucked the warmth out of him. It was in his nostrils, the cloud of it coating his lungs, crawling under his feathers. He could feel the mold spread, the irritation across his skin, the pins and needles that pressed outward from each goose-bump. His senses were flooded and washed away, Negaduck scrubbed clean by the toxic liquid, rinsed away by the spray to reveal crumbling, musty concrete.

He was tumbling and diving into a rotting concrete statue of his former self.

His father had done this to him. Reduced him from pristine, soft, clean marble to this, spongy, mold-covered concrete.

His father was crumbling him.

His father had planted this weakness into Drakey even from the edge of Oblivion.

His father was the one who gave him the name "Mallard". Which, by the way, the little owl knew.

The little owl, Negaduck spotted after peeking one eye open, was hurtling into the mouth that threaten to suck the entire building into it. The big bear was at the warehouse's entrance, up the steep climb the bowing floor had left, and blinking stupidly at his Director.

That pipsqueak had called him "Mr. Mallard."

And Negaduck had questions.

Pushing from his corner of the ceiling, Negaduck leaped from one beam to the next, and snagged his grappling hook. He wedged it into a cross beam, secured the rope around his wrist, and - he drew his Glock just for the security of it - jumped. The owl hooted in surprise when Negaduck landed on top of him, pinning him into the rushing water and shoving the Glock under his chin.

"Where did you hear that name?" Negaduck shouted above the water that surrounded the owl's ears. "Who told you that name?!"

"We've known that name for years," the little man squirmed, pulling at Negaduck's hands to try to lift himself out of the freezing water. The masked mallard could feel the cold begin to creep into his feet and legs, and fought to keep his heart rate down. Panic was the last thing he needed right now.

So was a bullet to the ribs, but hey, 'twas the season of giving.

Negaduck roared in pain and collapsed on top of the little owl, who shoved him sideways. Hands and hips and face in the water, the duck heaved himself up out of it, coughing and sputtering and digging at his coat with his claws, trying to tear out the pain that stabbed into his back, just under his left shoulder blade. The heat blossomed around his back and his side and his arm, the one he was currently using to hold himself up out of the water, but the panic started when it reached his lungs.

No, no - those he needed, especially since they had already started to lock up and refuse to listen to him at the sight of the water.

It was  _his_  body, damn it.  _He_  was the one they listened to, not some stupid trauma or whatever. Not that that's what was happening here. Negaduck didn't have  _trauma_.

The water finally drained, and the rushing roar of it gave way to the pounding pain and panic in his own head. Controlling his heart rate was no longer an option.

"Well then," the owl hooted, standing with the assistance of the bear, whom Negaduck glared up at.

Damn, he felt sick.

"Now that all that hullabaloo is out of the way," the owl straightened his suit and the big bear snarled down at Negaduck, "I regret to inform you, Mr. Mallard, that the time for civility has long since passed."

"Finally," growled the duck, drawing his Glock and firing.

The good news was that he hit the little owl in his shoulder, nearly taking the whole darn arm off.

The bad news was that the bullet he got in return to his kidney was going to be a little hard to re-gift next year.

Negaduck wasn't above crawling to safety - okay, yes he was, but he had an interest in staying alive over his darn pride at the current moment. Pride or not, he was still very much the prey in this situation, which the large, crushing paw around his ankle strongly reaffirmed.

Twisting around, Negaduck cursed at the bear and kicked with his other leg, nailing him in the face and hopefully breaking something. He had certainly kicked hard enough. The bear roared again, and Negaduck hauled the Glock back into his face, his aimed knocked off when the bear yanked him hard enough to drag him across the floor. Splinters embedded themselves in the hole in his back, even past the parka, coat, and turtleneck, and Negaduck snarled, clenching his jaw so he wouldn't scream. The bear's paws were around him suddenly, beating at the hole in his front, pounding him back onto the hole in his back, and trying to wrestle the Glock from his hands.

That much, the stupid beast didn't - and wasn't - going to accomplish.

Snarling, he lifted Negaduck off the floor and dragged the struggling duck down the hill of soaked wood, and towards the waves that lapped at the sunken deck.

To say Negaduck swore profusely would be an understatement. He also kicked - quite literally - his struggled up about eleven notches, but the bear was big - no,  _huge_ , and currently not sporting two bullet holes and an early onset state of "killing me would be kinder".

"Put me down, you knob!" the duck roared, but when the bear didn't respond, he craned his neck to catch sight of the little owl.

Smug little punk, standing there almost smirking as his idiot lackey did the grunt work for him.

Damn puny knob was perfect size for a punt kick straight to his smug little beak.

When Negaduck refused to stop struggling after the bear warned him to do so, the bear drew a pistol - the heck had that thing been hiding? - and shot him again, this time, straight through and through. In the front and out the back, a few chunks of intestines coming with it.

Negaduck froze, eyes blown wide in shock and pain. He stared at the bear, who smirked his stupidly scared face at him.

This time, Negaduck tasted blood, spit it onto bear as cold pain, icy and sharp, began to spread through his nerves from the third wound. He tossed a few curses at the bear, still utterly motionless in shock, before being plunged down into the icy water.

The surprise was enough to make him scream, Negaduck choking on the water and sludge that hurried into his mouth and down his throat.

Damn it damn it damn it

Drowning would be too easy, yet here he was, feeling the life and warmth slip out of him as quickly as his own blood was in the speeding current. He clawed and tore at the massive hands that held him with his own, kicking at anything - nothing -  at the current that bore down on him to try to boost himself up, escape the water, breathe again. Bullets, guns, knives, machetes, gasoline, matches - all worthless so long as he was submerged in this detestable liquid!

Wait, guns.

Past his panic and heat and numbess, he clenched his right hand, and yes, the Glock was still there.

Perhaps shooting the thing that was holding him under the water right between the eyes might have seemed like the quickest way to get to freedom, but killing the thing also holding him steady against the current that pounded into his back certainly wasn't.

Welp, too late for that now.

Negaduck clawed and scraped at the wood, hauling and heaving his way out of the hold of the Bay and up onto the submerged deck. He surfaced right through the pool of blood what was left of the bear's face had flooded the water with, but blood be damned. He needed to  _breathe_.

Each cough and bloody cry of effort sent ribbons of pain through him from all four bullet wounds, something hot and unbearable, and he puked onto the bear's body as he climbed over it. No respect for the dead here. His left arm was seizing up against his will, most of the left side of his body following, since that was the side that had experienced the most damage, but Negaduck hauled himself over the body and up the deck.

He could still hear the water below him, and felt it weigh him down from outside, from inside, inside his lungs, his eyes, his body, his mouth, his nostrils. Puking again, this time with blood and what might have been something resembling food he had forced down his gullet a few days ago - and definitely chunks of something he probably needed to stay alive - coming up alongside the sewage and muddy water and warm blood.

Oh - oh crap. Was that hair he just pulled out of his mouth?

"This is certainly a surprise," the little owl said, and Negaduck collapsed onto his hands and knees. His head pounded, heck, every part of him was freezing or burning or both. The cape and collar of his coat dug into his neck, suffocating him - squeezing his warmth out, and Negaduck tore at the buttons with shaking hands. Confound it - how hard was it to grip a few snaps?!

"That is a shame about Agent, Grizzlikof," the owl continued, but damn him. Negaduck wasn't listening, he was too busy trying not to suffocate in his own straight jacket. Finally, he found the strength to tear the cape off, permanently destroying the clasps that kept it in place, and popped off a few of his parka snaps, the coat being ripped opening and letting a new wave of cold hit his exposed chest and abdomen like a wave. Blood and water were pooling under him, draining out of the bullet holes, and the turtleneck, red that it was, reeked of the iron that had soaked into it.

He could breath. He could  _almost_  breath. He wasn't being suffocated anymore, at least not from the outside. Now he just needed to convince his lungs that yes, in and out still meant the same thing -

The barrel of the gun rattled hard against his forehead – apparently, he had lost his hat somewhere - and the cool cylinder being pressed to his skin was a sensation Negaduck would recognize on his deathbed.

He just hoped this time wouldn't be such.

He almost prayed it wouldn't be.

Almost. Wasn't Christmas supposed to be about some divine something or other out there somewhere anyway?

Or was that Santa Claus?

The owl cleared his throat, as if he could feel how quickly Negaduck's mind was racing. The duck grimaced, groaned, and aimed what little attention he could wrangle at the owl. Because right 

gun at his head

deathbed.

he was praying.

"I had hoped this little ren-de-vous wouldn't cost me some of my best agents," the owl sighed. "But you Mallards have such an affinity for going over the top, I admit I should have foreseen this outcome."

"The heck are you talking about, pipsqueak?" Negaduck growled. Nevermind how hollow and shaky his voice was, that was normal for a dead duck walking. "I don't know anything about this 'Mallard' you keep-"

"Oh, save it, Mr. Mallard, please. We run the biggest criminal spy ring in this universe or the next -"

His heart definitely skipped a beat at  _that_  little expression.

"- Lies are beneath us."

Well now Negaduck had a few options. Question about his name, about the oddly coincidental use of the word "universe", or question the spy structure that had, apparently, finally killed him?

Freaking stupid politics bullcrap with their stupid friggin' Bay and blasted confounded bullcrap spy rings and crap.

The turd eating knobs could all choke.

"Right now, you're probably thinking up all kinds of things," the little owl said, his words cutting through the fog slowly rolling in over Negaduck's remaining senses. "You're probably wondering who 'we' are, exactly. How we got the best of the 'Lord of the Negaverse'. How we know who you really are. Where-"

"How about when you're going to quit your yammering and lower the gun?" growled the duck, his voice shivering almost as much as the rest of his body. "It's awf'ly hard to think w-with a pistol at my brains."

"Hmm? Oh, yes, yes of course." The owl made no indication of removing the gun. "You first."

"Bite me."

"Well, very well," the little man shrugged. "As I was saying -"

"Cut the bull! I don't care about w-who you  _think_  you are or what y-you  _think_  you know, you measly little cockroach! This is  _my_ city, you f-filthy bug, and you've got exactly five s-seconds to get out of it before I carry you out in a body bag j-just like all your other pals!"

The owl didn't reply, and the gun rattled against Negaduck's forehead. He decided to pretend that he was shaking out of rage and not the million other reasons his body was shutting down and beginning to violently reject the notion of "staying alive".

"Interesting," the owl finally chirped, and Negaduck growled at him.

"Shoot me or leave! I'm done with your games!"

"Oh, I have every intention of shooting you, believe you me, Mr. Mallard -"

"Stop friggin' calling me that!"

"-But, out of respect for your father, I'll grant you one question before you die. I think the son of Stellar Mallard deserves at least one truth in his miserable life. Heaven knows your dear mother and father never gave it to you."

Damn, he  _was_  going to be sick.

Negaduck lowered his eyes from the owl and collapsed onto one hip, hissing at the pain that radiated from his _everything_ at the movement. He sat back and curled his throbbing arm into his lap, hugging it firmly, the Glock crossing his chest as he did.

Oh boy.

Rule number 1, he had told Gosalyn as a joke once, don't panic.

Rule number 2, she had added as an attempt to defuse the panic bubbling up inside both of them at the time, don't throw up.

Well, he was well past rule number 1 by this point, and rule number 2 was right around the corner.

These people - this owl - these spies, knew who his father was. Knew who he was, who his mother was. S.H.U.S.H. was deep, but it shouldn't have been  _that_  deep. Or else Negaduck would have heard about it long ago. Heck, Quiverwing had gotten herself involved in the very rudimentary backbone of the city. If there was a spy ring operating,  _she_  would have known about it.

But the only reason he had even considered its existence in his universe was because it existed in Dorkwing's universe. And because it  _ran_  Dorkwing's universe. And because his father had infiltrated the ranks of it  _in_  Dorkwing's universe.

Why had he gone through all the trouble of becoming a double agent in the other universe when it existed in his own? His father was crazy, but he wasn't stupid. In fact, he was clever, so incredibly and disgustingly clever. A spy, a soldier, a cop, a criminal, a leader. A husband. His father always got whatever he wanted.

Negaduck's breath hitched.

That was it. Stellar always got exactly what he wanted. If his torture and exile to Oblivion had taught him nothing it taught him that.

Stellar always got exactly what he wanted.

Always.

Exactly.

And he had already had S.H.U.S.H.

Of course he would want the Primverse's S.H.U.S.H. as well.

"How did it feel," he aimed blurry, but impossibly blue eyes up at the little owl, "when dear old Poppa turned out to be a double agent?"

The owl blinked almost, well, owlishly. He lowered the gun and frowned, Negaduck curling up in on himself with a low hiss of pain. "Stellar Mallard as a double agent? How intriguing of a concept. Is that what happened in that other dimension you are always popping in and out of?"

"What 'other dimension'?" whimpered the duck. "Or does that violate my 20 questions limit?"

"Oh, don't play stupid with us," the owl huffed. "We've suspected there was another dimension involved in this equation for years. Your disappearance for the last three years, for instant. We certainly couldn't locate you, and if we couldn't find you, then just where were you?"

If they had been looking for him -

"And that plucky little sidekick of yours, that Quiverwing Quack girl."

Negaduck leaped suddenly, pinning the owl to the floor. "DON'T YOU  _FRIGGING_ -"

"Gosalyn Mallard."

Negaduck aimed his Glock at the owl's throat, pressing the barrel down into the flesh.

"Keep talking,  _please_. I've been looking forward for the chance to get back at -"

"How pe-peculiar-" the owl choked, wiggling his head in attempt to squirm out from under the gun, "Drake Mallard bore a daughter after all. Or stole her up from another dimension. S.H.U.S.H. -  _ack_ \- hasn't - decided - which - it - is - yet..."

Maybe it was the brain Gosalyn always knew was rattling around in his head somewhere, or his own exhaustion, but Negaduck could feel the rage seep out of him.

 _Look at the big picture, Gosalyn,_ he had barked at her he didn't know how many times. And every time he did, she had rolled her eyes, but he was stubborn. He kept repeating the mantra until she stopped rolling her eyes. And after almost a year of working together, the young hero was finally starting to get it.

Look

at

the

big

picture

Gosalyn.

"Gosalyn is mine," he said. "Now answer my question while you can still breathe!"

"Release me first."

"This is no longer -  _AAACK_!" screaming in pain, Negaduck was tossed sideways, rolling off the owl and gripping his sides as a sensation, entirely and completely too much of a sensation, sharp and serrated, spread around his nerves and consumed him. Negaduck knew what electrocution felt like, and he - while rattling and shaking on the floor, his tongue flopping out of his bill that rapped against the deck - decided that he _definitely_ still hated it.

But something was wrong - he hiccuped in some breath before he passed out - he was still being shocked.

"Terribly sorry for the shock," the owl said, standing and dusting his sleeves off and rubbing at his hurt throat. "Taser clips. I’ve attached one to your sleeve. You'll either suffocate or be reduced to a puddle of your former self. These batteries have been known to last through the night."

For all his preaching about looking at the bigger picture, Negaduck could be damn hypocritical sometimes.

_...if he was certainly a spy, and anything like the S.H.U.S.H. from the other universe, he no doubtfully had something tucked away somewhere._

Damn hypocritical.

The owl watched Negaduck shake and convulse for another moment, cocking his head to the side as he saw what looked like tears falling from the duck's eyes.

"My, my, my," he clicked his tongue. "Weeping in the face of advisory?"

Negaduck tried to aim a glare up at the little fiend, but his eyes weren't focusing on the same spot and the little tyke couldn't decide which repetition of himself he wanted to stick to.

"I misspoke earlier. You are nothing like your father."

With a sigh, the owl finally produced a small button from his jacket, and switched it off. Suddenly, the pain stopped, and the mallard was left in a state of suspension as the heat and numbness faded, the pain returning. Still on his side, he grabbed at the wounds that covered him and curled in on himself, bringing his knees up and weeping out loud, quick sobs as he tried _anything_ to get air back into his lungs.

"Oh yes," the owl chuckled to himself after letting the mallard cry to himself for a moment, returning the button to his jacket, "I was answering your question, wasn't I? In my age, it's a miracle I remembered to put on my shoes this morning! Drake, my boy, Stellar Mallard cannot be a double agent for S.H.U.S.H. because he is the one that  _founded_  S.H.U.S.H."

Okay, was it just the nausea or the literal loop the owl just sent his world for that was making him want to vomit?

"Yes, we've been involved in your life since it began. Have you ever wondered how your father was elected to Mayor over St. Canard? Or who all of those secret men he discussed with darling Ana about in hushed conversations were? Or the men you stumbled upon outside your trashcans one unfortunate evening? Drake, poor, foolish Drakey, you couldn't have known it at the time, but that was the beginning of the greatest -"

The small, choking meow from the other side of the room was a noise Negaduck would remember for the rest of his life, whoever long that ended up being.

The sound of most of the owl's neck being blown away by the Glock was another.

What a good, faithful little gun. There was a reason Negaduck had kept it around for so long.

Besides, Gander had shot first.

Negaduck hauled himself to his feet, groaning and swearing as he did so, and hobbled to where the owl lay, chocking and drowning in his own blood. The masked mallard almost envied the warmth Gander was currently feeling, swimming in a puddle of his own life.

"Don't you ever say Momma's name again, Gander," he growled, kicking the director's gun away and caressing the bottom of the owl's chin with his own pistol. "The first shot was for Sylvester. And this," from his jacket he produced a box of matches, hoping at least one of them was dry enough to light, "is for Mold."

The bullet that hit the short tabby nearly took half of the poor thing with it. Negaduck knelt next to the panting creature, practically collapsing as he did so, and stroked its face with his bloody fingertips.

"T- tell Mold when you see her that - that -" he fought past a wave of nausea, "that I get it, will you? The Law of the Strays? Keeping things even. I get it. And - and thanks," he whispered, scratching the cat's chin and smoothing down the ruffled fur on its cheek. He stroked and pat the cat until it died, its bloody, soggy purr fading gently as its eyes slipped closed.

They say that cremation was the only way to end an incarnation cycle. He wasn't sure who had said that, but he had heard it somewhere. Or maybe, as he leaned on his chainsaw, watching the factory burn, he had just made it up.

But cats had lots of superstitions surrounding them. Nine lives, black cats crossing your path, bringing you good fortune if they wave at you, things like that. Ana had even said that cats live to keep the universe balanced. The "Law of the Strays". Any dead done to a cat, stray or pampered or whatever, they would return.

So far, two cats had given up their lives to save his. And so far, he'd done just about all that he could to keep things even. Maybe burning the bodies of the men that killed them would be enough.

Negaduck didn't hate cats. It was a hard thing to do. Pets, however, were easy to hate. Scaly, slimy, furry little bundles of trouble that made messes everywhere and expected you to clean it up. They were just like leeches in his mind, only less cute and a heck of a lot more trouble.

It's why Little pin-curled Gosalyn would have never gotten a pet.

It's why Drakey, or Negaduck, would never have a pet.

But cats weren't pets.

Pity.

The  _one_ animal he  _might_ have considered as a companion one day -

The rumble of SUVs, a whirling helicopter, and the screeching of hot tires against the cold pavement suddenly surrounded Negaduck, who spun around, staring in shock at the encircling army.

 _"Negaduck spotted,"_  came the cry over the walkie-talkies of the troops in suits that piled out of the vehicles and stormed towards Negaduck, guns drawn. He blinked at them, stepping backwards as the army continued to assemble.  _"No sign of the Director."_

"Negaduck!" one agent called, and Negaduck looked at him, eyebrows twisting in confusion. He didn't, however, drop the chainsaw. "Drop the weapon!" ordered the agent appropriately. "Hand over Director Gander! Now!!"

Negaduck continued to stare in shock, unmoving. His right hand, with the Glock, twitched, but the gun remained at his side, locked with paralysis in his grip.

His eyes darted back and forth across the scene, failing to focus on anything.

The white-spotlight from the helicopter hit Negaduck, who blinked and looked up at it, raising his Glock to lazily shield his eyes, his fedora long-gone. The sound was deafening, and nearly drowned out the shouting agents around him.

_"Drake Mallard! Drop the the weapon! Release Director Gander!"_

That, however, did get his attention, and Negaduck aimed his eyes back down at the suited man, lowering the Glock.

He couldn't count how many agents surrounded him. He couldn't count their vehicles, the noise and light disorientating him, and he couldn't even see their weapons as his vision began to blur and swim. Was he back underwater? Why was everything going murky? He was still shivering as the wind kicked up by the helicopter whipped around him and chilled his turtleneck and soaked feathers.

"Negaduck! Lower the weapon or we  _will_ fire!"

Wait - what?

He had enough sense to cover himself with his arms as the bazooka fired, tossing the duck backwards, into the air, and through the burning front of the factory. The collision knocked the wind out of him, his head cracked open, and he landed on the floor with a dull thump, a few flames sticking to his parka.

Negaduck found the floor, which splintered under him, and pushed both hands against it, trying desperately to sit up. He collapsed, unsuccessful, terrified by the lack of feeling in the rest of his body. Gander's body was on the other side of the gaping hole and sunken deck in the middle of the floor, burning nicely, and the smoke was filled with the scent of singed feathers and burning blood. Negaduck grunted and pulled himself forward, dragging his front across the wood, the turtleneck picking and pulling the wood apart and aiming splinters up into him. He cried out and flopped back down, hands digging for the wood that embedded in his skin like needles. Some other part of the factory began to collapse, and the duck flinched, blinking that way, his eyes filled with tears as the smoke and heat of the flames pressed in from all sides.

No cape. No hat. Not even his chainsaw. Just a parka that would never close again and a Glock cemented into his hand.

And Gosalyn.

Damn it, he didn't want to die.

Taking a few quick breaths, his lungs feeling oddly unresponsive, Negaduck hooked his arms underneath him and army crawled, dragging himself down the steep incline and towards the water. It was blacker than ever with the reflections of the flames dancing across its surface, the various collapsing parts of the building making it churn wildly. He thought he heard the army start to approach, thought he saw a flash of white light as the helicopter's spotlight found a hole in the roof, and knew, for a fact, they weren't going to take him alive.

Not S.H.U.S.H. Not Poppa's S.H.U.S.H. Not again.

Finally, he reached the edge of the water, and stopped, trembling. The water lapped at him, bubbling almost excitedly. The factory shifted around him with a groan, and he glanced around quickly, then back down to the water. Then, he frowned, the water started... vibrating?

SUVs. That's what that thunder was. The SUVs outside were charging. Those blasted idiots were going to run this place over if it meant getting him killed.

Well, he looked at the water again, trying to pull air into his panicked lungs with some short breaths, they got an "A" for effort.

"This is for you, Go-"

The floor gave out from under him as the machines crashed through the front of the building, and Negaduck plunged, all too suddenly, into the icy water. At least he was safe from the flames.

...

Except he hadn't considered the current.


	6. Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise follow up to the previous three-parter.
> 
> (Reese's has no idea this one is coming)

 Something splashed onto her rocks, something heavy and wet. She flinched and her back went straight, her senses straining for any further movement. Had she just imagined it? Who would dare be in the Bay at a night like this? If it was another senseless juvenile, caught in the rough rapids of the Bay, the waters turning and churning across its uneven and treacherous new underbelly, she was just going to leave them and let them drown.

Unsupervised teenagers weren’t her responsibility, and besides, she was cold-blooded. Any ventures from her drafty cave and into the positively frigid night winds might be her own death. Negaduck had warned the citizens against trying to escape – of course according to Quiverwing Quack he had meant to warn them about going into the newly refilled Bay – so if they wanted to get themselves killed with hyperthermia, then it wasn’t her job to save them. She wasn’t about to risk her own life to save some little run-away. Leaping lizards, she was a scientist, not a saint!

The night was clear, for once, and a few stars poked through the usual blanket of smog and pollution that filled the atmosphere. Camille paused at the mouth of her cave for just long enough to see a few of them twinkle, smiled softly at the sight, and then turned to the matter at hand. Her flashlight was heavy and running out of power, but it illuminated a hornet-yellow jacket, ripped to shreds and stained with sewage and –

Her nose curled as she caught a whiff of the helpless figure strewn across the rocks at the water’s edge. Blood. He was covered in blood.

And still bleeding.

“Oh, hollering horn-toadss,” muttered the lizard-duck hybrid, tiptoeing her way down the rocks. “Thiss ssilly ssnake probably got themsselvess hurt – gahh!” she lifted one of their arms to catch a glimpse of their face, but gasped in fear and dropped it quickly when she recognized who it was.

Who in the Negaverse wouldn’t recognize that face?

Blinking, Camille looked around at the dark waters that stretched around her, and up the hill behind her, over the edge of which was the faint glow of the city.

Just what in stinking skinks was Negaduck doing down there?

 

* * *

 

 

Her slender, miniscule hands tugged and tugged at his shoulders, but the water-logged duck was by far too heavy for her to lift. Oh no, oh no, this wasn’t good. Lifting him out of the freezing water and into the semi-permeable shelter of her cave was impossible for a frail thing like her!

“Great geckoss,” Camille huffed, combing her scales out of her eyes. The rocks still looked deserted, she wasn’t picking up any scents of heat signatures of other invaders, only her own and Negaducks - both of which were much too low - and took a deep breath. After some effort and intense concentration, her slender hands became thick and powerful ones, and she grew about three feet taller.

“I do hate thiss,” muttered the heavy-weight quarterback. “Ssorry about thiss, Frank. But,” Frank, Frank the Tank, more specifically, doubled over and scooped Negaduck gently and carefully into his arms, “I guesss you owe me thiss much after High Sschool.”

Balancing on the rocks was considerably more difficult with a body Camille wasn’t used to, without the added aid of her adhesive feet, and with the Lord of her universe in her arms, but the hybrid managed, panting and exhausted from the exertion by the time she reached the cave. She trudged forward a few more steps and carefully laid the unconscious duck on her cot, grateful to shrink back down to her normal size.

“Thank turtless that’ss over,” she hissed, a chill making her shiver. She stood still, for a moment, lost in thought, then snapped, as if from a trance, her attention darting to the heavily wounded duck on her bed. “Great geckos – that’ss – I’ve – Negaduck iss on my bed! Negaduck iss on my – Negaduck iss on my bed, and he’ss bleeding out!” Rushing to the metal foot locker at the end of the cot, Camille yanked the lid open and rummaged through the contents. “Where iss that – where iss that – aha!” from the metal chest so pulled her old lab coat, shaking the wrinkles out of it. “Hmm, seems clean enough… no lingering scents of mildew or dust… marvelouss monitorss!” she slipped the coat on – it still fit perfectly, of course – and rolled the sleeves up. From the far corner of the cave she unlocked another foot locker, lifting glass bottles, needles and thread, syringes, gauze, rubber tubing, plastic bags, and other supplies, and piled them carefully onto the metal cart – no bigger than a TV dinner tray – she had pulled closer with her tail. She started a fire next, in the natural furnace she had dug into the rock, hanging some blankets and placing her metal instruments inside it to be sterilized. Now that her equipment was prepped and would be ready to use shortly, she turned to the duck, and nearly fainted.

Negaduck was on her cot, and he was dying.

Right, Camille shook her head, and hurried back to his side. She stopped a few steps away.

This was the most dangerous duck in the universe, she considered, peering over the cot and down on the quiet mallard. His chest rose and fell in small, shallow breaths, and his face was wrinkled with the ghost of a frown. He was soaked through, covered in cuts and scrapes, and black and blue and pale all over. Even while unconscious, as evidenced by his frown and low groans in his throat, he was in tremendous pain.

What – or who – _could_ and _would_ inflict such brutal injuries to their city’s leader? Her thinly-veiled heat vision located four external wounds, a gunshot underneath his left shoulder blade, one to the left lower quarter of his abdomen, and one directly in the middle of his abdomen, the shot having torn a path clean through him and out his back. It just barely missed his spine. The duck’s body temperature was past the point of shock, and his parka and turtleneck glowed with cold, while his body struggled to maintain what little heat it was generating. His heart pumped wildly, but her senses betrayed its efforts.

There wasn’t enough blood left to keep it going.

Diagnosis: probably wouldn’t survive the night.

“Oh no you don’t!” the lizard hissed, yanking the sleeves of her lab coat back up and turning on her heel. “I don’t care which degenerate you are, you diabolical diapssid, but you are _not_ about to die on my cot!” From the foot locker of supplies, she pulled a box of gloves and snapped them on, and pulled a surgical mask around her bill. “Or my name isn’t--!”

She ran quite suddenly into the night air, panting and wheezing before she got sick.

 _Negaduck_ was dying on her cot!!

Like, _THE_ Negaduck!

“Get ahold of yourself, Camille,” the duck lamented, dropping to the dirt and curling her arms around her legs, her tail wrapping around her protectively. “You’re no ssurgeon! You’re not even a doctor! You’re – you’re just a lizard-headed biologisst.” The cold began to soak into her scales, and the scientist hugged herself more tightly, shivering.

“You can’t ssave him. You can’t even help him.”

“You’re also going to freeze out here,” she muttered.

“I know that, but – but – but _he’ss_ in there!”

“Yess, and he’ss waiting for you to ssave him!”

“I can’t ssave him! I’m jusst a lizard-headed cottonmouth, remember?”

“Cottonmouthss are among the deadliesst sspeciess of ssnakess, you know.”

“Lissten,” the duck frowned, “how do you expect to boosst my confidence sso I can help that – that – the Lord of the Negaversse in there if you keep asssociating me with the deadliesst sspecies on the planet?”

“… you’re the one who ssaid it.”

“Oh, you’re no help!!” With a huff, Camille pouted, tugging herself into a tighter ball. She continued to shiver, and blinked slowly.

“Leaping lizardss,” muttered the scientist after a few minutes, standing and trudging to the base of the cave. “There’ss no ssensse in freezing to death mere sstepss away from my own home!”

Blinking, she craned her neck to peer inside. Negaduck was sill on her cot, and still hadn’t moved.

With a deep breath, the squaring of her thin shoulders, and one “hollering horn-toadss”, Camille marched back into the cave, skirted the wall opposite of the duck, and stood in front of the fireplace, letting the heat warm her as she stared at the poor dying creature across from her.

“Blasst.”

Her hand found some scissors as she walked across the cave, pulling her mask back over her bill and gripped the scissors like a weapon. All forward momentum fizzled to a stop, however, and she stared, her hands beginning to shake.

He was the most dangerous duck in the entire world. Definitely more dangerous than a cottonmouth.

Except… no he wasn’t.

He was in pain. And he was dying.

“I’ve handled cottonmouthss and King Cobrass and reticulated pythonss! What’ss one meassly duck?!”

“The kind of duck that would sstrangle you and walk away without a ssecond thought.”

“Well, he – I won’t let him!”

“Ssure, becausse handling a ssnake iss exactly like handling thiss monsster.”

“No creature is a monsster,” Camille argued, her posture relaxing as she watched her shadow dance across Negaduck’s pained face. “Every creature and living thing, down in itss very core, iss jusst sscared. I need to make it lesss sscared. Alsso,” she looked back at the supplies on her cart, “ssome resstraintss might not hurt.”

 

* * *

 

 

It took the scientist nearly twenty minutes to gather enough nerve to cut away his parka and turtleneck, after tying his wrists to the cot with the tubing, and securing it with surgical knots that no one could break through.

She hoped.

Once his clothes were cut away – he let out the most desperate of whines when she did, she had to move fast. Activity helped Camille keep focused, and she fetched the heated blankets from the fireplace, wrapping him up in them. If was no small accomplishment just pulling the clothes out from under him, but then she had to repeat the process somehow and replace the old garments with blankets. Frank the Tank helped, and Camille was grateful that he had been so strong. There was no way she could have done this without him.

Once Negaduck was bundled up, Camille left the mask in place, she set to cleaning and stitching up the wounds. She scrubbed at the holes carefully, using tweezers to remove the many cracked splinters and bits of sand and grim that had settled into the flesh, clipped away the feathers for a closer look, and grabbed her hot iron from the fire. This was going to hurt.

Camille stood outside for another ten minutes after cauterizing the first wound, trying desperately to shake the sound and smell of his burning flesh out of her head, and to forget the groan he made, the new coat of sweat covering him. Once the wave of whatever she was feeling passed, she rolled her sleeves back up and marched back inside.

But the third go with the iron, she didn’t have to run to safety anymore. It was getting a little easier to help the duck, even if she did feel like she was killing him even more.

Frank turned him over as gently as possible, desperate not to pull at the fresh stitches in Negaduck’s front, and tended to the back. Yes, she knew there were still some bullets rattling around inside him, but she was no surgeon. There was no way she was risking cutting him open to retrieve them. So reluctantly, she grabbed the scissors and moved to clip the feathers around the holes.

She had certainly noticed how strong he was, even under the blankets and in such a ghastly condition. Under the pristine white feathers, which she was also cleaning as she closed the wounds, his muscles were sculpted and firm. Not – not that she had prodded around, or anything like that. She was only doing what she needed to in order to help him! No-nothing more.

Anyway…

 

* * *

 

 

Some sunlight, yellow with the sunrise, gently reached into the cave, warming Camille’s face. The lizard groaned and rolled over, wondering why her cot was so hard and flat. Then, she sat up with a gasp and a start, she remembered that she wasn’t in her cot, and exactly why.

Negaduck was still on the bed, laying still and quiet, tucked into the blankets with his wrists still bound. Standing off the stone ground - oh, her back – she shuffled to him and let out a loud yawn, stretching and rubbing her eyes. The stitches had held, impressively, and his temperature was starting to return to normal. Camille smiled to herself and shuffled into the sunlight, greeting the world with her chin held high.

She had saved a life, last night. Negaduck was –

Negaduck wasn’t cold-blooded like she was, he was warming blooded. And he was hotter than a bearded dragon under a heat lamp!

Camille rushed back inside and slid to a stop by the duck, whose face had curled into a deep frown. Sweat was beading up all over his skin and his breathing had shortened into quick, painful gasps. Mesmerized by his chest pumping up and down, the lizard reached forward to stroke it, screaming in fright when the duck lashed out suddenly, yanking on his restraints with a loud cry.

“Sstinking sstinkss!” she cried, running and hiding behind her cart of supplies as his head whipped to the other side, crying out again and pulling hard on the tubing. His body temperature was climbing much too quickly, and his heart rate was going haywire. “If he doessn’t sstop, he’ll give himself a heart attack! Wait,” Camille frowned at herself, “who am I talking to?”

“Do something!”

“Right – right!!” Leaving her post, the scientist transformed into Frank again, pinning the duck down. Negaduck only kicked and struggled against the hands, his entire body convulsing. He screamed and cried out, eyes screwed shut as sweat ran into them, panting and gasping for breath desperately past the screams.

“Calm down – I’m trying to help you! You’re only going to make things worsse – oomph!” the duck, though tied, still managed to throw her off of him, Camille landing on her tail with a grunt. “That’ss gratitude for you!”

“Sstop him before he killss himsself!”

“But he won’t lissten to me!”

“There hass to be ssomeone he’ll lissten to!”

Negaduck was drowning all over again. The current was pushing him, pulling him, driving its sharp tendrils into him. One second he was being burnt under the water’s frozen touch, and the next it was fire that licked at him. Maybe it was both at the same time. He couldn’t tell anymore, couldn’t tell which way was up – which was down, what was light and what was dark.

The helicopter that circled him flooded his senses with light and noise and the rush of wind. The shackles around his wrists dug into his skin as he hung, helpless, like the flank of meat he was, waiting for the next beating. Ropes burned into his bill and clogged his nostrils, and he tore at it desperately, the ropes growing tighter and tighter, his bill cracking right up the middle with a sharp, agonizing pain that threatened to crack his skull open with it. Needles and chains and punches and boots and hands and brass and bullets and arrows and nails and pipes and fire and water-

He screamed, cried, pleaded, desperate to be released and let go.

Please, please, he just wanted to see Gosalyn again. He had to show her how to crack open a safe and how extend a repel rope and how to change a tire.

Please, she had to know it wasn’t her fault.

Please – please – please.

“Negaduck-!” he heard, but the voice was too far away. It echoed all around in him, on top of him, in the far distance. He didn’t know that voice but please, please, he just wanted to see her red hair again.

“Negaduck, it’ss me, it’ss Quiverwing!”

In a stroke of what she hoped would prove to be brilliance, Camille had changed forms again. It was hard, taking a form she had never met before, or seen in person, but she had a pretty good memory. And besides, she was pretty sure the thrashing, screaming duck in her hands wasn’t going to be quizzing her on her identity. She just needed something to get through to him.

And hopefully the sight of his redheaded partner would be enough to calm him down.

But it was too late. Maybe it was both at the same time. He couldn’t tell anymore, couldn’t tell which way was up – which was down, what was light and what was dark.

The helicopter that circled him flooded his senses with light and noise and the rush of wind. The shackles around his wrists dug into his skin as he hung, helpless, like the flank of meat he was, waiting for the next beating. Ropes burned into his bill and clogged his nostrils, and he tore at it desperately, the ropes growing tighter and tighter, his bill cracking right up the middle with a sharp, agonizing pain that threatened to crack his skull open with it. Needles and chains and punches and boots and hands and brass and bullets and arrows and nails and pipes and fire and water-

He screamed, cried, pleaded, desperate to be released and let go.

Please, please, he just wanted to see Gosalyn again. He had to show her how to crack open a safe and how extend a repel rope and how to change a tire.

Please, she had to know it wasn’t her fault.

Please – please – please.

Please.

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken into the evening for the fever to start to slow down. Camille did what she could, she didn’t have the strength to keep fighting her patient, so she tried to keep the place as hot as possible, keep him covered and clean, and most importantly, keep him tied down. She was thankful she had used the rubber tubing to do the latter. Not only was it thick and tough, but it wasn’t going to dig or cut into him like other ropes might have. The worse he would get was some raw wrists.

Well, “worst” being relative here.

Camille had dozed off, when she heard it: some gentle moaning. Blinking, she hurried to her feet and to where she had pushed the cot closer to the fire place. Negaduck laid on it still, but this time, he was quiet. He moaned softly and rolled his head over, sucking in a deep breath. If certainly wasn’t a blush the lizard was feeling on her cheeks, just the heat from the fire place. His feathers all tussled and worn down with sweat, she combed them away from his masked eyes. So calm and peaceful, and under the glow of the fire and the sun, he looked –

“Oh no you don’t, Camille,” the scientist said, pushing away from the cot suddenly and stumbling until her back hit the other side of the cave, “you are not falling for thiss – thiss murderer! Look at him! He’ss … dangerous. And, uh, deadly. And downright… deplorable. All yellow and red and black and white… like a – like a coral ssnake, or ssomething… ssomething dangerouss…”

Outside she hurried, grabbing at her scales in her hands and letting out a cry of anguish. Why was she always so endeared to the dangerous things? The things that could – and quite possibly might – kill her? Why?

It was no way to live.

“Living in a cave, on the run, iss no way to live either, you know.”

“But, but thiss iss home.”

“’Home’! Hah! Thiss iss a hole! You’re a wanted criminal, you know! On the run from thosse military typess! You could have been great!!”

“I’m just a cooky biologisst.”

“You just ssaved the life of the Lord of the Negaversse. Maybe he’ll owe you.”

At this, the lizard blinked, and looked back into the cave. Soft noises were coming from within, and she tiptoed back inside, hoping beyond hope he hadn’t woken up.

Hollow, bleary blue eyes aimed at the fire, soaking in the dancing light and heat. Camille slipped back into her Quiverwing skin, staying close to the opposite wall as she crept back inside. Negaduck twitched, and cocked his ears, listening for the slight rustle she had made.

The lizard froze where she stood, watching and waiting. She didn’t think he had seen her yet, but kept still just in case. After several minutes, a lifetime of working with dangerous reptiles had taught her how to stand and wait, his head rolled back to face the fire, letting a small fraction of the stress within him to be released. He was so tired. One arm twitched, and it tugged against the tubes. Quite suddenly, the still, silent duck was panicking.

“Hey- hey!” Camille rushed forward when he tried to sit up, yanking with a growl on the restraints. Her voice clearly startled him, and the exposed feathers of his chest and neck stood on end.

They halowed him with a gentle glow, and made his strong shoulders seem even bigger than before –

“Quiverwing?” his voice was husky and raw and Camille felt a chill run down her spine. Negaduck glanced away from her just long enough for her to salvage her disguise. “Where are we?”

“You’re ssafe,” she replied, his attention darting back to her. A frown creased his face and impossibly blue eyes – that swam and filled with so much depth and power – searched her up and down, darting back and forth between green eyes he – obviously – would recognize in a heartbeat.

“Are you hurt?”

Camille nearly let her mask slip again, but tightened her hold, disguising the almost-mistake by moving to the back of the cave and out of his range of sight.

“No, I’m fine. But you are! You need to resst!”

“Why am I tied up – where the heck are my clothes?!”

Oh, she did blush at that one, but thankfully her back was already to him.

“Quiverwing!”

“Sssshhh, take it eassy,” she calmed, stepping back to him, her hands held in the air. “No one here iss going to hurt you, but you need more resst. Sso lay back down –”

“Why won’t you answer me, sidekick? Where are we!?”

Her control over the situation was slipping away, and Camille felt herself begin to panic. The emotion pouring out of the duck before her was a clear warning sign to run and back out. But instead, she pressed onwards.

She always had had this thing about flirting with danger.

“You’re just sscared becausse you’re – hurt. It’ll all be clear in the morning…” On cue, Negaduck’s energy began to fade, and his eyes blurred over. Camille stepped closer, chancing a touch to his arm. “Just lay back down, now—”

Suddenly, Negaduck – whom she had underestimated, kicked the blankets off and latched one leg up and over her, pinning her to the cot.

“Where is the real Quiverwing?!” he snarled, and Camille, lost in the rush of it all, slipped into something smaller, escaping the hold and slinking to the floor. The duck snarled in confusion and thrashed against his restraints, Camille slipping underneath the cot and towards her supplies, grabbing a needle and sedative. All at once, she leaped onto him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and chest, and pricked him with the needle. Negaduck struggled and swore at her, but as another coat of sweat covered him, his movements slowed to a crawl.

“How did you know I wassn’t Quiverwing?” asked the lizard, lowering him to the cot, his head in her lap and her arms still around him.

“She’d never let me call her ‘sidekick’ and live another day…” he slurred, eyes slipping closed. Her blood pumping with adrenaline, Camille held him for a moment, letting the heat billow off the exhausted duck warm her.

Of course, the blush rising in her cheeks and face was doing plenty of that on its own.

 

* * *

 

 

“He sstill hassn’t woken back up.”

“I know that,” sighed the scientist, huddled on the foot locker and watching the sleeping duck. “But 55 cc of thiss sstuff will knock out an elephant.”

“Maybe you killed him.”

“Don’t be foolish,” she hissed. “I’m a biologisst, I know what I’m doing.”

“Then why are you falling in love with him?”

Camille scoffed loudly and sat up, her jaw agape. “How _dare_ you! I’m a completely detached professsional! I can handle taking care of one duck!”

“But thiss issn’t jusst any duck, and you know it. As far as ‘dangerouss catches’ go, Camille, thiss iss your crowning achievement.”

“I didn’t ‘catch’ anything, or anyone!” grumbled the lizard, standing and huffing to the mouth of the cave. “He washed up here, remember? I wass only doing my besst to try to ssave him.”

“And look what it’ss gotten you. Careful, Camille. You blush any harder and you’re going to get a permanent blood rush.”

That was – that was it. Oh, stupid foolish Camille, it was so obvious!

“Blood! Hollering horn-toadss, it’ss sso obviouss!”

“What iss?”

Rushing back inside, Camille yanked on the cot and moved it away from the fire so she could slip in near it. From the supply cart she pulled a couple of needles and IV lines, and a the last of the rubber tubing.

“A vein-to-vein blood transsfusion sshould do the trick,” smiled the scientist, prepping the instruments and lowering the cot to the floor. “Sorry,” she apologized as the movement jostled the unconscious duck, Camille staring at his face, quite suddenly so close to his own. “Leaping lizardss,” she muttered, tearing herself away to pull the foot locker closer, wrapping herself in a blanket, and settling herself against it. Once she was settled, she carefully lifted his head and placed it in her lap, making sure he was comfortable, and brushed the line of his jaw with her fingers.

“A blood transsfusion might kill him! You have no way of knowing if you’re the ssame blood type!”

“I sstudied the genetic factor within chameleonss that allowed them to manipulate their colorss to match the oness around them, sspliced it within other living creaturess, including mysself, ressulting in the ability to manipulate, not only the color of my sscales, but the entire genetic make up of my body at will.”

Having inserted and tied off the tubing into the crook of Negaduck’s arm, and blocking the flow so not a drop of his precious blood escaped, Camille took a deep breath and steadied herself.

“What’ss your point?”

“I’m what you call,” Camille drew a small knife and pricked a small hole in Negaduck’s neck, catching the drop of blood she squeezed out onto her fingers and screwed her eyes closed in concentration, “a universal donor.”

 

* * *

 

 

Negaduck felt warm. It was a new sensation for him, considering the last thing he remembered – with a pained frowned – was getting dropped into the Bay with S.H.U.S.H. on his –

Wait, Gosalyn! They knew who she was! He had to – had to –

Why wasn’t he moving?

With another growl vibrating out of his throat, which hurt like he had screamed it raw, he flexed his hands, taking a quick inventory of his body.

Gunshots, stitches, burns, and a very, very painful throat. Also, he was tied down by something in a place he didn’t recognize. But he was – warm?

Probably because of the fire next to him, he noted, finally pulling his eyes open. His wrists were tied down with what looked like plastic tubing of some kind, to the military cot he laid on, in a dark, damp…

Cave.

This didn’t seem very S.H.U.S.H. like, assuming he had been captured. Of course, if they had some big, official looking building, it might be harder to hide an entire criminal spy ring –

…

Why was he hooked up for a blood transfusion with himself?

The heck was S.H.U.S.H. into?

Negaduck quite suddenly forgot about the cave and the fire and the tubing and military cot and blankets he was wrapped in, and stared long and hard at the clone beside him. The white feathers, the mask, the bill, all wrapped in a green blanket identical to his own. And even, Negaduck frowned, the small prick he was feeling begin to bruise on his neck.

It was an exact, and current, copy, and it stirred.

“Oooh,” the clone cooed, in a voice most definitely not his own. “Leaping lizardss, my head. Oh – oh! You’re – you’re awake!”

“Who are you?” Negaduck bit with a frown, trying to mask his own confusion with aggression.

“H-here,” the other Negaduck sat up and moved to untie him, the blanket dropping from around a naked body. Even if it was his own, Negaduck tried to avert his eyes. “Gaah!” the clone cried, wrapped the blanket around themselves quickly, a terribly deep blush flooding their cheeks.

It only made Negaduck forget his anger, especially when the clone untied him.

“There,” they smiled, sitting back wearily tugged the blanket closer. “I’m – glad to ssee you –”

“Wow-!” chirped Negaduck, sitting up quickly and catching the clone around the shoulders when they fainted. “Uh,” he looked around and grabbed the clone’s blanket, pulled it up around their shoulders, and steered them back against the footlocker, laying them gently down. The blood transfusion tube needed to be dealt with next, and Negaduck glanced around again. A cart of supplies sat nearby, and – taking a blanket with him and wrap around his own shoulders, he shuffled to it, mindful of the tube connecting him and the clone, and snagged the edge of the cart.

Once the tube was removed from their arms and they were both bound up, he sat back on the cot, the blanket around him, and watched his clone. They were still alive, just passed out, and comfortable at least. The bullet wounds, he had checked while cleaning up their arm, were identical, even the stitches.

If someone wanted to make a clone of him, why make one in this condition? Negaduck kept his senses alert, but was too tired to move from his cot. Even standing and fetching the tools for the blood transfusion had left him light headed. He should try to figure out where he was. He should find another weapon besides the scissors he clutched in his hand and the scalpel he tucked under him. He should escape while he wasn’t being watched and go find Gosalyn. Make sure she was okay. Make sure S.H.U.S.H. hadn’t caught up with her yet, that they believed his lie about her being his daughter.

He passed out before his worry for his partner could fully rear its ugly head.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille woke up the next day exhausted, and in a body she didn’t recognize. Oh, right, the blood transfusion. Looking around, her heart rate picked up when she realized he wasn’t around. In the cave. Anywhere.

“Negaduck?!” she called, keeping her mask in place. “You’re sstill hurt! You sshould be ressting!”

Only silence met her ears, and she took a few deep sniffs of the air, sensing him nearby. Or, she glanced down at her copy of his body, she was smelling herself. With a sigh, she fell backwards.

She had never been a body that was so sleek and fit, even with the wounds. And one benefit to the refilled Bay was that she now had a mirror, which she had taken to flexing into. The blanket was around her waist – Negaduck’s waist, and his white feathers shimmered in the early morning sun. The duck may look scrawny from the outside, but he was anything but. The compact duck was purely toned muscle, pristine feathers, and deep, impossibly blue eyes. A smile filled with jagged teeth grinned back at her, and try as she might, she couldn’t get that sinister smile of his just right. It must have been more personality than physical, and the thought of that much power coming out of him made her shiver.

Camille Chameleon was hopelessly in love with Negaduck.

A frustrated sigh escaped her and Camille slumped her shoulders, reluctantly letting the mask fall and returning to her own body. The transformation took a second or two longer than normal, since she had changed her blood type, and knocked her off her feet and onto her tail.

“Great geckoss,” she rubbed her scales, “remember to never do that again.” Padding down her scales, she checked for the bullet wounds and stitches, finding them gone.

“Neat trick,” a gravely voice said from behind her, and Camille spun around, Negaduck himself standing before her. His Glock was in his hand, and – wearing a fresh parka and fedora – he popped the clip back into place.

Camille felt her face grow hot when blue eyes she had studied so carefully aimed themselves at her, Negaduck strolling causally down the rocky cliff face, his arms tucked behind him.

“Camille Chameleon. Biologist and genetics expert. Your research was redacted after it was marked ‘unethical’ and you dropped off the grid after that. That,” he dropped to the same stone she sat on and crossed his arms, frowning down at her, “was over five years ago. You’ve got a cave stuffed with stolen military equipment, though no serial numbers or tags were on any of them, and, for some reason, a fully stocked lab, even though you clearly aren’t working anymore. I assume the Bay’s return affected your living space, but you haven’t moved locations or moved on with your life, despite your ability to become literally anyone you wanted to. So, Camille…” Negaduck – who had been leaning closer and closer to the hybrid, his husky breath fogging up her senses - lifted her chin with the gentlest of touches from his knuckle, and aimed blue eyes down at her own, purring. “…Keep yourself out of trouble, and I’ll make sure no one else knows _anything_ that I just said. Am I… clear?”

“Perfectly,” she breathed, eyelashes fluttering closed.

“Good,” the duck said, straightened and dropping her chin, and the lizard, onto the rocks. He wiped his hands off and turned, climbing his way up the rocks. Camille sat up and watched him leave, climbing and leaping up the sheer rockface and disappearing over the edge of her little cave with a triumphant fling of his cape.

“You’re in love.”

Camille let a long, blissful sigh escape her, and leaned across the rocks, her head nestled in her chins with a distant, lovestruck smile on her bill.

“Hopelesssly. Abssolutely hopelesssly.”

A wave hit her tail and Camille cried in fright, leaping to her feet. She shook the water off and glared at the Bay, sticking her tongue out.

“I hate that sstupid Bay.”


	7. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been waiting all month to publish this chapter.

Quiverwing grunted and her knee hit the roof, Negaduck’s attention immediately darting to it. She stood and gave her shoulders a shake, her arms flopping around lazily.

“It’s so _cold_!” she whined. “Why is it so darn _cold_ in this dimension?!”

“Science,” Negaduck remarked, shuffling a few steps ahead and climbing onto the edge of the roof. He tried not to let the heights make him too dizzy. “Winter. Christmas. The weather. Take your pick.” On the positive side, the city was lighter with all the Christmas lights hung up all over the place. Spotting the runaway bandits would be significantly easier than in the years past. On the negative side, the masked mallard wasn't too sure that his unfocused eyes could spot them among the sea of dancing lights.

“Have these people never heard of a ‘cold advisory’?” asked Quiverwing as she shuffled beside Negaduck, his attention twitching to her.

She wasn’t joking about the cold. It was bitterly, bitterly cold tonight. When she came through the portal, she was half-tempted to turn around and go home, grabbing an extra pair of gloves, earmuffs, and an entire extra coat along the way. And she was already wearing a thick, long coat, gloves, her scarf, and a furry knit-hat over her mask. Negaduck eyed her, sizing up the heavy winter gear he wasn't sure who had dressed her in more, herself or her idiot father.

“The heck is a ‘cold advisory’?”

“It’s to advise people not to go outside! Because it’s freaking _cold_!” the young hero snapped. With a huff, she glared around, eyes scanning for the bandits. Her bill was curled in a tired pout, and it almost made Negaduck smirk. He didn’t usually advise – prefer her being overtly emotional while they were chasing down some rogue idiots, but she had a very strong point.

It was _very_ cold.

And it's not like he was 100% anyway. Heck, he was barely barely-functioning as it was, without the cold air and roof-top chase on top of it. The last couple of days since waking up in that lizard's cave had been spent at home, shivering, puking, and chasing after sleep that continuously outran him. The closest thing Negaduck had gotten to rest had been bear-filled fever-nightmares, his brain trying - and failing - to comprehend the sheer size and strength of the agent whose brains he scattered. Something in his mind couldn't process that that huge hunk of fur was actually dead, and the rest of him still wasn't entirely convinced that Negaduck _wasn't_. The blood transfusion the lizard had given him hadn't been rejected by his body, he figured that made sense, but he still had two bullets rattling around inside him, and stitches on his insides that might as well have been sown with Popsicle sticks and glue.

But then Gosalyn finally replied to his texts, and they hit the street. He didn't dare let her back in the house, and it wasn't just because he had totally failed to decorate so far, no matter what excuse he gave himself. One glance at the puke and blood and feather filled home and she probably would have bubble-wrapped him and carried him to the nearest hospital like a sack of potatoes.

And Negaduck didn't _need_ hospitals.

“Let’s get these knobs and go home.”

“Language!” Negaduck snapped, eyes bulging at his partner in shock. Quiverwing stared back at him, her own eyebrows twisted in surprise.

“…What?”

“That’s – it’s just, _my_ thing,” he grumbled, crossing his arms in a pout. “You’ve got your – _catchphrase_ , or whatever. And I’ve got mine.”

“I still want to go home.” She buried her pout into her scarf.

This enraging and infuriating redhead was definitely adorable when she pouted.

“Let’s get these _idiots_ and go home.”

Negaduck almost rolled his eyes. Almost. Adorable didn’t downplay the annoyance factor.

Or the sass factor.

Darn he had missed the sass. It was good to have it again.

“Fine.”

“Really?!”

“Merry Christmas.”

The two bandits had finally turned down a dead end, and Negaduck sprinted for the edge of the roof, definitely didn’t almost lose his balance, and climbed onto the fire escape at the edge of it, definitely not with some nauseous groans. Chasing bandits might seem very Darkwing-esque, but _he_ was the one who controlled crime around here. He was, after all, the Lord of the Negaverse, the Demented Duck of Destruction—

Negaduck stopped and blinked, Quiverwing frowning up at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just heard your idiot father’s voice in my head.”

“Did he happen to mention how freaking cold it is?!”

“No,” Negaduck hauled her onto the fire escape. “The sooner we catch those knobs the sooner we can go home, you know.”

Quiverwing nearly fainted with relief, shuffling to the fire escape’s ladder and kicking it a few times with her heavy winter boot to loosen it. Negaduck climbed onto it after her, and gripped the railing for a moment, trying to convince himself that no, it wasn’t shaking.

“I can’t feel my tail.”

He growled out a sigh. “That’s too bad.”

“I can’t feel my bill.”

“Then stop talking.”

“I can’t feel my—”

“Stop whining!” Shoving past her again, the hero letting herself stumble to the other side of the fire escape, he shook the ladder with both hands, the rust refusing to budge.

“It’s probably frozen.”

He tossed a glare at her over his shoulder.

“No, really,” Quiverwing walked back to the tempermental mallard and studied the ladder, her hands still tucked between her arms and her body. “I think it’s frozen stuck.”

Negaduck looked around for a solution, a few curses being released under his breath as his world tipped to one side.

“Are you okay?” Quiverwing asked, and Negaduck aimed his attention away from her and to their surroundings. They couldn’t just get off the roof the same way they got up, they had both landed on this one from a higher roof. And the fire escape was the only way –

“Negaduck?” she touched his shoulder and he hissed at her, yanking it away.

“I thought you were cold,” he rattled the ladder again.

“But I want us both to get home in one piece. If you’ve got frost bite, so help me – I told you to start wearing pants.”

“No. I’m not wearing _pants_.”

“I know, _that’s_ the problem.”

Above his head was another string of Christmas lights, tied to a metal cable satellite and covered in a few clumps of ice. If he could use it as leverage, he could balance on the top of the ladder and try to loosen it from the top. And if he was lucky, he wouldn’t lose his balance and hurtle down three flights to the alley below. But the risk was worth it. The bandits be darned. He was freaking freezing.

And he didn’t like being cold.

“Boost me,” he motioned, and Quiverwing walked to him, piecing together his plan with a few quick glances.

“Let me do it.”

“No,” he shoved off her hands that tried to steer him away from the railing. “I’m already here.”

“You can barely stay upright! And I’m taller -”

“My city, Quiverwing,” the mallard snapped. “If you don’t like it, then find a new sidekick!”

Something danced in the redhead’s eyes, and she blinked, stunned. Negaduck cursed himself and tore his eyes away, shivering.

No.

He _wasn't_ okay.

He hadn't been in days.

Heck, he had barely been _alive_ in days, and pushing himself to go on patrol had practically set him back to that darn lizard's cave.

...

There. He finally _said_ it.

He'd just been so eager - so _desperate_ to have that familiar fire back in his life of toilet bowls and twisted sheets and bloody thread that he'd sacrificed it all for just an hour of _life_.

Of the kind of life only _Gosalyn_ could give.

But that was all the more reason to get Quiverwing home safe and sound, and quickly. He wasn't letting his partner alone in this city until he put a bullet in every single last S.H.U.S.H Agent, from this dimension or the next.

They had already almost taken his life. They weren't going to take his reason for living.

And besides, he wanted to avoid passing out, pulling open some stitches, or saying something he might regret as much as possible.

Well okay, the last point he had already done. Now he just needed to avoid the first two.

“Boost me, please,” he tried, and ignored how Quiverwing’s jaw dropped.

“Now I know you’re not Negaduck.”

“Have it your way,” he growled, climbing onto the railing, and had her hands not rushed to grab the hips of his parka, he would have toppled to the other side.

“Honestly, your ego is worse than Dad’s sometime.”

There were a million jabs he could toss back without a second thought, but all attention was on the target, the string of lights wrapped around the antenna, and also on not hurting himself over the railing or getting them both killed along the way. The uncertainty practically rolled off the young hero like rage had the tendency of rolling off of him, but the target wasn’t too far out of his reach, so he grabbed it, knocking a few chunks of ice off with his fingers.

Then, he touched something hot, a numb pain shot up his arm, and the lights flickered.

Negaduck screamed and crumbled. Quiverwing still had his coat in her grip, but he thrashed when his feet slipped, must have kicked her loose, and fell. Something cold and wet broke his fall, he tumbled through glass, and found the cold, hard ground with a grunt.

Multiple stitches had definitely had been ripped open and blood began to trail down his body in thin streams, but he couldn’t feel it. The concussion and bruised ribs throbbed and radiated with pain, but he couldn’t feel them. Maybe Quiverwing had called his name in a panic, but he didn’t hear her. Maybe he screamed out, he couldn’t remember. Everything went numb and quiet when the flash of panic and surge of energy and _fear_ overwhelmed him.

No, not fear.

 _Terror_.

Now on the cold ground, Negaduck’s arm continued to pulse from the electricity, and he gripped it, curling his body around the limb with a snarl that was definitely not a whimper. His eyes were wet because of the surprise, certainly not with tears, and his breathing was irregular because the wind had been knocked out of him.

Absolutely not because he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Negaduck!” Quiverwing cried, and he heard her boots crunch down on the shattered glass that circled him. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t choose this!” he bit, shoving himself to his feet and stumbling away from her. His vision was inflamed with red and he glared at the taller, slim figure in the room. Warm rivers flowed over his icy surface. Light and dark and pain and numbness battled for dominance. Heat pulsed under the cold. The shards of shattered glass met his knees when he fell to them, continuing to cradle his arm and hiss to himself.

“What are you talking about?”

“I – I – I – I – I—” Was he stuttering? His chest was tight, his arm burning, and his heart pounded against the base of his skull. His brain pounded back. He rocked back and forth, trying anything to orient himself with wherever he was. Hands met the ground, touching but not feeling.

He could _not_ be stuttered. _He_ didn’t like stuttering.

He hadn’t stuttered in years.

Damn it! He was so _pathetic!_

Something touched him and Negaduck thrashed out again, shoving them away from him. Or he clawed at them. Maybe he kicked. He just needed them _away_.

He still couldn’t breathe. He still couldn’t figure out where he was. Nothing was making any sense!

Why wasn't anything making any sense?! Why was just one little jolt enough to reduce him to - to - to this?!

_Negaduck didn’t break down!_

But Drakey would.

He wasn’t marble.

He was scared and right now he was choking on it.

“Negaduck,” Quiverwing addressed calmly, pulling her winter hat and mask off. Her red-hair tumbled over her shoulders, and Gosalyn’s eyes glistened with worry and fear. “It’s me. It’s Gosalyn. I’m not going to hurt you, Poppa Wolf. You’re safe!”

“I – I – I – No! I – I didn’t ch--choose this!! Do you hear me?! I didn’t choose this! This isn’t how this ga -ga - game works!”

Darn it, he said “game” again.

"What are you talking about?!"

“I – I mean – I – I –!”

His head was beginning to lose all weight, and he swayed to his feet, stumbling back a half step. A piece of glass that fell off his coat stabbed the bottom of his foot and Negaduck collapsed again.

He saw a flash of red and thought of taillights, of a car, a car Christine had pulled a pedestrian clear of. A whiff of damp feathers and he saw fur, Mold, Sylvester, her hanging, lifeless body and his mangled, open one. Heat and he remembered Megavolt. Wetness and there was Liquidator. Flashes of white – helicopters. White feathers – Stellar. Heat, light, swirling, spinning, dancing colors – too much, entirely too much all at once all over the place all around within outside inside through among faster pain colors blue yellow red mixingblendingtogetherrunningflashingitchinghurtingfallinghurtlingdrowning

Oblivion.

“Overload” would be an understatement. His tongue was still fuzzy from the electricity, he could swear the year-old cuts in his feet had opening back up, the scars oozing out clots of blood, and breathing was - he was so past the point of even considering breathing. The words he had said – all those wrong, stupid words, “game”, “sidekick” - pounded away in his skull. Fear, terror, desperation, trauma, they all over-charged his instincts. Pain, death, sickness, uselessness, hopelessness. Desertion. Disappointment. Disappointing. Up became down and right became left. Reality slipped away. The cold slipped away. Light? Dark? The pain slipped away. Color? Numbness? Voices, touches, gravity… he was turning to marble and crumbling at the same time.

Something touched him, maybe. He thrashed and wheezed. He was choking on something – on nothing? Something was restricting his air, closing up his throat, filling his lungs with cement.

No, not cement… he felt the cold floor under his hands as he fell to all fours…

Concrete.

Gurgling, sputtering, and gagging happened all at once as he puked. He was so darn sick of puking! Steam rose from the vomit under his chin and up his nostrils, and Negaduck grabbed his middle with his arms as he up-heaved again. So much pain. So much heat. The hole through his middle that had been stitched up stabbed into him with every convulsion. His newly cracked rib was glowing with heat from the fall. Some of the bile came up through his nose, and bits of whatever had been shoved down his throat clung to the cracks and divots in his teeth, and he could feel the mushrooms on his tongue clog up the vomit as it was forced up his throat. His third spell resulted in little actual excrement, but it was enough to finally unclog everything building up and let it dribble onto the puddle with a sickening _splat_. He spit the rest out.

He tasted mold and must and iron and something that might have at one point been coffee.

Negaduck collapsed.

Footsteps crunched across the glass towards him. He twitched, just enough to indicate life, and the footsteps stopped.

“Negaduck?” Gosalyn asked, kneeling close - but not too close. He blinked up at her.

His head pounded. His heart hurt. All orientation spun on a wobbly axis as air, sharp and icy, returned to him. Maybe wanting to die was a bit extreme, but he definitely wanted a do-over. Or a glass of water. Quite possibly a very strong beer.

A cigarette wouldn’t hurt either, just for the heck of it.

Or… just Gosalyn. He blinked his eyes back into focus. Had she been talking to him? Had that been the rhythm he heard, gently thumping away under his own panic and –

“There you go,” she was saying, keeping her eyes on him. What? “Good job, you’ve got it!” Got what? “In – out – slowly now. Just… breathe.”

He blinked again. He was _breathing_.

Since when had he been breathing?

The colors began to form the shapes around him. The light and dark separated, his senses untangled, and the foggy filter of mass hysteria lifted. Gentle, easy breathes cleared his head.

Kneeling not far away, her hands on her knees and her head tilted, crimson ponytail hanging like a soft scarf, Gosalyn watched him. Her worry came out in puffy clouds in front of her bill, and her cheeks were pink against the cold. A bruise was beginning to darken the feathers underneath her bangs, probably where he had struck her, and she was tense with stress and attentiveness. She studied him carefully, hesitantly, waiting for him to tell her when to move, how much to move, if to move.

She relied on him to tell her how to help him.

And she so desperately wanted to help him.

And he had developed a chronic case of life-depending reliance on her help.

There were no words to describe the strength he found in feeling her there, just watching him. Nothing more, than watching him.

He hadn’t lied to Gander, after all. Gosalyn _was_ his.

“I – I don’t know what to do for you,” the young woman said, sitting onto one hip. A sigh escaped her, and she combed her hair over her shoulder with a gloved hand. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to help you.”

Oh, the irony.

“Kid…”

The exhausted duck rolled with a hiss onto his back and reached one hand for her, wiggling his fingers. She mirrored the action and laid her hand across his. No pressure was applied, but he felt her there. She, the angel, had even taken her glove off so their skin could meet. Hers was so warm. So alive. His felt like stone.

Maybe marble.

Cold, dead marble.

He swallowed so his voice would stop shaking.

“… Put your damn gear back on. It’s friggin’ freezing.”


	8. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I'm here to destroy your ships
> 
> CHAPTER RATED M FOR TALK OF A PEDOPHILE AND LANGUAGE

Negaduck went out only briefly on Christmas day. In case Gosalyn showed up, he needed to be at the house, ready to greet her.

Three years. Three friggin years.

For three years she looked for him. He wasn’t about to make her look for him even once more.

Texting had become a new norm. After loosing track of each other during a mission - he had NOT panicked, okay -  he drew up a map, covered it with various markings, and explained the key to her. He didn’t use words and stayed away from numbers, but there were symbols galore. Sitting her down and making her listen, he explained how the map worked. He named the various places and their code names. He made sure she understood and would memorize them.

They adjusted the map as he learned the city's new layout, and he would make sure she memorized the changes.

Carrying a cell phone was dangerous. Carrying a cell phone with exact time and locations of meetings saved on them was suicide. So, he had made a language for them, made her memorize it, and used it. Every time he went somewhere. Every time she asked. Every time she was in the Negaverse or he was in the Prime-verse. And she caught on and used it as well. It worked for them.

But lately, all had been silent.

December was a busy month. He certainly wasn’t going to keep pestering her with locations and times and meetings if she wasn’t going to show up anymore.

Because they both knew that their last outing was a miracle, and had admitted it.

But that was it. Just a miracle. It wasn’t going to happen again. Not with a popular young lady like her. She was busy, or probably with Dorkwing and that idiot pilot at McDuck’s Manor. Or out with her new…

That Goof kid.

Or heck, any number of places, doing any number of things with any number of people.

Just not there, with him.

Not again. Not just days after their last patrol.

Because that had ended so well.

Regardless, he’d missed three Christmases. She’d been looking for him for three years.

He wasn’t going to make her look for him ever again.

So, he ducked out of the house only momentarily. He hurried out, completed his chore, and hurried back home. Just in case she showed up, he would be there.

Her gifts, yes _gifts_ , had he mentioned he missed _three_ Christmases?, were inside and ready for her. They weren’t wrapped, but she didn’t expect them to be. And he wouldn’t know how if he wanted. But he had all three. He had ducked out earlier in the day to pick up the fourth. But now he was home, and ready to wait for her to show up.

And, he immediately sensed another person inside his house, it looked like she had come after all!

He wondered why she hadn’t texted him.

Thankful that he had mustered up the strength to clean up the mess of his disaster of a home just a bit. Bummed he hadn’t been able to hang the decorations. He didn’t even have a tree. She’d be so disappointed in him when she came.

Which she had.

Negaduck shouldered the door open and slammed it shut quickly behind him. It was _so_ cold. He didn’t want his house freezing, especially since she came. He wiggled and shook the snow off his feathers and rubbing his arms, hurrying to greet her.

He hoped she had known he was coming back. He hoped she hadn’t been waiting too long, or worried too much. He had only been gone a couple of minutes, that was it!

Why hadn’t she texted him?

Into the living room he strode, saw the figure on his couch, and drew his Glock and fired before the other occupant could even toss out a snide greeting.

“Yeeeow!” Launchpad McQuack – this universe’s version of Launchpad McQuack - howled, gripping his bleeding arm and nearly tumbling off the couch. “Hi to you too!”

“Get out!” roared Negaduck, storming to the larger duck and cocking his handgun again. “Out!”

“Yeah, and a ‘seasons tidings’,” McQuack spat.

Negaduck didn’t tell him again. He raised the gun and shot, hitting the pilot’s other arm. He knew he hit bone, and the duck howled with pain.

“Cut it out!”

“I blow a hole in your skull to prove that it’s empty inside next if you aren’t out of my sight by the count of three!” He cocked the gun.

“Alright, alright, alright!” Squawked McQuack, trying to raise his hands but only grimacing in the process. “Here I thought maybe that little b—ch softened you up.”

Red was the only thing Negaduck saw and he snarled, aiming the weapon right between McQuack’s eyes.

“Three!”

“I’m leaving!”

It _was_ awkward, watching McQuack lift himself off the couch without the use of his arms, but Negaduck was satisfied just to see him leave.

Well, coming through on his threat would have been satisfying. This was just a consolation prize.

McQuack’s stumbling steps stopped, and Negaduck turned to glare at him. “You were leaving!”

“Nah,” the pilot shook his head and turned, “I don’t think I was. I still live in this craphole, remember?”

“You haven’t lived here in over a decade!”

“Wow,” the redhead had the audacity to look smug, “here I didn’t even think you can count that high.”

“I don’t care,” Negaduck stormed forward, glaring up at the larger duck from under his fedora, “if you work for McDuck, or S.H.U.S.H., or the freaking President! _Get the heck out of my house!”_

McQuack leaned forward, their bills nearly touching as he grinned at the shorter duck. “Want me out before Mommy comes back? Got special plans for your new number one w--e tonight, Daddy?”

Cracking the pilot’s head open wasn’t as satisfying as digging the skull out and shattering it into pieces like a coconut, but Negaduck couldn’t kill him. He and McDuck hadn’t agreed that Launchpad would stay out of the city, just out of Negaduck’s way. And this pilot was a possession of the richest, meanest duck in the world. Well, first richest and second meanest. Negaduck didn’t have to fear someone to respect a treaty he had with them.

Not to say he didn’t fear McDuck.

McQuack, unfortunately, wasn’t unconscious, and stumbled backwards, hitting the door. He tried to spit some useless threat out but Negaduck leaped up and barreled into him with a well-placed shoulder. McQuack didn’t only smash through the door, but he stumbled down the porch steps and landed heavily on the snow outside.

Darn. He had actually taken care to keep the door in place. Now he’d have to fix it.

“Just because I can’t kill you,” he barked down at McQuack, who coughed and rolled around on the snow, coating it with blood, “doesn’t mean I can’t make you wish I could!”

McQuack glared at him and went to reply, but Negaduck didn’t want to hear another word from his mouth. He pivoted, flashing an obscene gesture, and slammed the door behind him.

Double darn. There was no way he was letting Gosalyn within a hundred miles of the house now, not since that first-class pervert had touched it. But he couldn’t just leave it, not with McQuack still thinking he had some kind of claim to it, or right to be there. This was his home. He had to protect it.

And she was his girl. He had to protect her.

He’d already failed at that once.

So, Negaduck opted to curl up on his broken sofa, blankets and pillows and lots of guns surrounding him like a fort, and waited. He did text Gosalyn, telling her to approach the home with caution, but let that be the end of it. If she was coming, it would now take her even longer than before.

No, she _was_ coming. It would just take longer than expected.

But he could wait. He had waited. One more day wouldn’t hurt him.

As he sat and waited in the cold, drafty, quiet, empty home, he tried not to think about how much he hated McQuack. About how he hated no one, with the exception of his father, more than McQuack.

Well, he hated Dorkwing too, but that idiot hadn’t _touched_ his Gosalyn.

Of course, she wasn’t even Negaduck’s Gosalyn. He guesses she was, logically thinking, his – this universe’s version of Gosalyn, she belonged here like Gosalyn, the real Gosalyn, _his_ Gosalyn, belonged in the Prime-verse, but she wasn’t his.

He didn’t care for her.

He didn’t like her.

And now that he had been betrayed by her, he disowned her. Her room was redecorated, reclaimed, and rightfully in the hands of the real Gosalyn. His Gosalyn. She could have her band of misfit morons and skip around like she was actually making some kind of difference in her new home after claiming the credit for this universe, the universe his Gosalyn had rebuilt, all she wanted.

To her heart’s content.

He didn’t care about her. She was dead to him.

But when she confessed the McQuack had touched her dress, even if she did think it was just an accident, and it totally wasn’t the attempted act of a pedophile, she suddenly became the most important thing in his entire universe, and just for a moment, she belonged to him.

More precisely, for 179 moments. It had taken Negaduck just that long to beat McQuack within an inch of his life and kick him out.

He warned the pilot about ever coming back.

It was the beginning of a long, lonely life.

 

* * *

 

That Gosalyn, the pin-curled Gosalyn, the Gosalyn who had had the audacity to dye her hair and go by another name, had already been taken in by the “Friendly Four” by that point. She had come home, with her delusional and completely incompetent escorts, to collect the few things she had. Her true purpose was probably to say goodbye. McQuack had, apparently, gotten upset that she was leaving. He liked her being around. He liked the little girl keeping the house and making his food for him. Cleaning his weapons. Cleaning his clothes. Cleaning his room. Being around him. Being near him. Playing with him. Spending time with him. Entertaining him.

Sitting on his lap.

When Negaduck had gotten to the house, the four would-be-heroes were outside, and he nearly went ballistic. They were totally unable, of course, to explain why they were there, useless in their fear and terror, so he had stormed inside himself. The little pin-curled girl screamed – he had assumed it was with delight to see him, it was hard to tell anything apart at that octave – and rushed him. The little feather-ball had hugged his waist, thanked him for taking care of her for so long, and said that she’d try to visit. Admittedly, he was stunned, and blinked down at her, hands still in the air and as far away from her as he could get them, but he did notice something. She released him and darted outside before he could comment, but he followed. She was small, and easy to catch up with, even if she was running for her life.

He called for her – no, he didn’t say her name, but he snagged the doll she carried and yanked her backwards. She turned to him expectantly, blinked innocently, and he knelt. The bow from her dress was missing, and her skirt had been ripped. Some of her pin-curls had been ruffled.

Her hair bow was missing.

He turned her around and inspected the back of her dress, where the clasp had been ripped away. She didn’t protest or stiffen or flinch when he inspected her, and turned back around easily, looking up at him with the big, green eyes.

Tears were in them.

Just because he didn’t like the kid, doesn’t mean he didn’t know every detail about her.

Well, he thought he had.

“Who touched your dress?” he asked. “You’ll need a new one.”

“I know that,” she folded the skirt down modestly, “but don’t worry about me. These four heroes will take care of me now! They’ll get me a new dress, with even more bows and even prettier than this one!”

“But who ripped _this_ one?”

“I can’t thank you enough for taking care of me, really,” she folded her hands over her chest. “You’ve been so good to me and have protected me so much.”

“Gosalyn,” he took her small shoulders in his hands, his fingers swallowing her, “did McQuack touch your dress?”

“I—” for the first time, the girl looked away from him and at the porch beneath their feet. Her pin-curls swiveled to hide her face, but barely. He saw the tears pool in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks.

Blush. As if it had been her fault.

“I didn’t mean to upset you both so much, and I hope I’m not. Please tell Launchpad that I still love him, okay? Pretty please? I know he didn’t mean to hurt me, he – he was just sad. I didn’t mean to make him so sad, honest I didn’t!”

There it was.

Launchpad McQuack had touched this little girl’s dress.

Who else knew what else he had touched, or tried to.

Negaduck had been so focused on finding out who touched her, that he hadn’t even processed everything else she had said. That she was leaving. That those buffoons would take care of her.

But if McQuack was touching her – had touched her, she needed to leave.

He wanted to her to leave.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to upset him. I’ll tell Launchpad.” It was hard to keep the snarl from his voice, and he hoped he didn’t crush her too badly when his hands tightened.

“Oh, thank you – thank you!” Oblivious to his rage, the little girl bounced upwards and latched her arms around his neck. Negaduck pulled her away quickly. “Take care of yourself, Mr. Negaduck!” She kissed his cheek and he blinked, stunned, but quickly rubbed it clean with a snarl when his senses returned. “Goodbye!” Picking up the doll she had sat down, she spun in a blur of pink and pin-curls and skipped down her path through the mine-field front yard and to the others. They had watched the scene stupidly, but scooped the girl up in their arms and hurried – practically ran – down the street and away from the house once she was safe.

He’d never see her again, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. He needed to strike while the iron was hot.

Sure.

Negaduck stood and pulled the Glock from his pocket. He whistled and shined it with a tip of his cape. Kicking the door down, he walked inside, finding McQuack on the couch, trying to find a picture among all the static of the TV.

He’d tell the b—--d exactly how much she had loved him.

“That’s too bad about little Gossy,” the pilot said, taking a swig of his beer. “Sure am going to miss her.”

Admittedly, it was probably too much fun shooting the beer from his hand, and watching it cover the redhead in suds. And it was definitely too much fun watching him frown up at Negaduck, maybe actually oblivious to how much he had just hurt the enraged mallard. And breaking as many bones in his body as Negaduck could before the fight exhausted him was absolutely, positively too much fun.

Because he had touched that little girl’s dress.

 

* * *

 

It looked like Negaduck would spend his first Christmas back home alone. Gosalyn hadn’t shown up, and the night was almost over. But if McQuack was still outside, or even still in the city, Negaduck was almost thankful for it.

Almost.

It still hurt like heck to be without her on her favorite day.

Long after the sun had set, the masked duck had finally had enough of the cold. Reluctantly, his blanket fort was at least keeping the most of it out, he moved to inspect the door. The hinges hadn’t broken, Gosalyn had insisted he buy some heavy-duty ones last time they went door shopping, but the frame was busted. He’d need to either beat it back in place or break it off if he wanted to door to seal shut, even partially.

Lucky for him, he always had a mallet laying around somewhere.

The porchlight helped him see as he beat and clawed away at the wood, finally getting it to where the door lock would work so the thing wouldn’t blow open with the slightest breeze. He would definitely replace the framing to combat the draft, however. Having a cold home was no longer an option.

And yes, he had heard someone scratching around inside the garage. The door had been busted for so long he wasn’t even sure if it had ever worked. But with his tank out back and his arsenal always clearly displayed, why did he need to use the extra storage space?

Slamming the front door shut, he moved to the door to the garage, mallet still in hand, and prepared to open it and attack whomever had snuck inside. He wasn’t in the mood for some lost trick-or-treaters. How they had even snuck inside to begin with was impressive, and mildly alarming. The door was crazy heavy and was loud enough to wake the dead.

With a snarl, he threw the door open and glared into the darkness. He couldn’t see a darn thing, but heard a yelp. A small, young yelp.

A flashlight was in his breast pocket, and he flicked it on. The figure hadn’t hidden very well, and Negaduck blinked at it.

It was that snobby know-it-all kid from next door.

Thing? No. Brick? No. Tank?

Yeah, that was it.

He was pretty sure that was it.

This kid belonged to the Muddlefools, who used to be some of his most devoted servants. Now, he hadn’t heard from them in years. Not since he became an empty-nester.

Well, Negaduck trudged to this “Tank” kid and surveyed him up and down, he certainly wasn’t a kid anymore.

“H-hello, Mr. Negaduck,” the young man whimpered. He was the size of a quarterback, but his glasses were bigger than ever and his hair as long as ever.

“No one calls me that,” Negaduck replied, and the young man nodded. Scanning the area quickly for any more stowaways, Negaduck turned back to the canary. “Get out.”

“I – I can’t!”

He was already halfway back in the house. It would be so easy to just close the door and forget this had happened. But, he stopped. Rolling his eyes, Negaduck turned back around, aiming his flashlight for the other’s glasses.

“Why? Your moron parents cancel Christmas this year? Will tough luck kid, because you won’t find it here—”

“Mr. McQuack is there.”

Negaduck didn’t feel cold anymore. All of a sudden, he was drowning in rage and heat and fire. He slammed the light switch near his head – cracking it in half - and turned the one working bulb in the garage on. Tank blinked and rubbed one eye. He wore a coat with holes in it, mittens that were too big, and thin, baggy sweatpants. He was shivering where he stood.

Those stupid Dundlefoots cared about their own son even less than Negaduck did.

“Don’t _ever_ call him that,” he growled, advancing down the stairs and on the young man. “He doesn’t deserve your respect. He doesn’t deserve _anyone’s_ respect!”

Tank was stunned at the words, clearly, and frowned. “I was under the impression that you two used to–”

“I kicked him out a long time ago. If I had known he’d started bothering you instead, I would have killed him. Heck, I should have killed him back then! It’s still a mystery why I didn’t.”

It wasn’t a mystery why he didn’t. McQuack had been Negaduck’s priest, telling every citizen in the Negaverse about their Lord and reinforcing the fear in their hearts for the masked mallard. He had even lived with Negaduck and Little Gosalyn, and had rallied the troops on more than one occasion. By all accounts, he was Negaduck’s right hand man.

So, if Negaduck had reduced Launchpad McQuack to a sack of bleeding, broken bones and bullet holes for touching a little girl’s skirt, his message would be loud and clear to the rest of the Negaverse. And by all accounts, it had been.

Pedophiles be warned.

And stay the heck out.

Red flashed under Tank’s pale face, and he stumbled half a step backwards. “H-how did you know?”

“Know what?”

“Oh-! Uh,” he blushed and recrossed his arms, “nothing. I – please, Mr. Nega- uh, Negaduck, sir, can’t I please just sleep here tonight? I will even sleep in the garage! I know it’s foolish to – I mean, if Miss Gosalyn is here, maybe I can –”

Negaduck laughed at that. He laughed good and long and loud, leaning against the wall as he doubled over.

“Kid,” he panted for breath, Tank’s confused expression making him giggle all over again, “no one calls me ‘Mister’ because they don’t want their heads blown off. No one calls McQuack ‘Mister’ because he’s literal crap. But _no one_ calls Gosalyn ‘Miss’ because she would strangle you with your own tongue before you could finish your statement.”

“Oh,” Tank blinked. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I guess, logically speaking, she isn’t the Gosalyn that I knew in childhood. This Gosalyn does seem remarkably different.”

“Yeah,” Negaduck snorted, crossing his arms, “you can say that again.”

Silence hung between them, thick and awkward, and Negaduck turned, fleeing the situation. He tried not to notice how dejected and terrified Tank looked as he left the young man behind.

Besides, it _was_ Christmas. His and Gosalyn’s holiday. Their day. If Negaduck wasn’t going to spend it with her, which was looking like the case, he certainly wasn’t going to share it with some four-eyed nerd who just wanted a bed to crash in until that pervert was out of his house.

It was _Christmas_. Tank should be with his own family, right? Isn’t that how Christmas worked? You spent it with family, not the psychotic next-door neighbor who was going to be sleeping on the couch all night and very much regretting it in the morning.

But, Negaduck stopped at his couch, and sighed. It _was_ Christmas.

He found Tank sitting in the steps of his garage, the single light bulb flickering on and off above the shivering canary. Negaduck rolled his eyes, for real this time, and tossed the mallet into the room, getting the startled young man’s attention.

“I’m closing this door,” the mallard said. “You’re letting a draft in.”

“Oh,” Tank stood and moved down the stairs to make room. “I apologize.”

He thought this kid was supposed to be smart.

“So get inside!” Negaduck snapped, and Tank blinked. After a quick moment, however, he stood and hurried to do as instructed, eager to take advantage of the offer before it was revoked.

Having slammed the door closed and locking it, searching around briefly to figure out how the intruder had gotten inside in the first place, Negaduck found Tank at the TV, his hands inside the thing and messing with – whatever was back there. Negaduck had never really looked.

“The heck do you think you’re doing?” the masked mallard asked, stomping to the center of the room.

“Oh, I - I was attempting to repair your television,” the canary flinched. “In exchange for the brief shelter and warmth. I won’t stay for much longer, but I’ve fixed our own television many times, so this shouldn’t be any trouble at all. My father, uh, enjoys damaging it.”

The pang Negaduck felt in his chest definitely wasn’t guilt, and it definitely wasn’t sympathy for this big, block-headed nerd.

And it definitely wasn’t a flashback to a childhood without a TV or fine china or nice furniture because his own father definitely didn’t also enjoy destroying things.

Darn it.

“How many rooms does your house have?”

“Two,” Tank replied, Negaduck watching the static on the screen change directions. “My father and mother share one, and my brother and myself share the other. Well, Honker hasn’t been home lately. He’s out of the city now. Trying to do something with his life, I suppose.”

“Is he back for Christmas?”

The heck had he asked that? He had a point for asking about the bedrooms, and it wasn’t to enter a conversation with this lay-about!

“Temporarily, yes. It’s been…” Tank sheepishly looked at Negaduck for a second, “crowded.”

A crowded house. He couldn’t relate. These days, it was only ever just him and Gosalyn. And the latter wouldn’t be making it.

He could strip Gosalyn’s bed to give the kid some warm padding, with the draft still seeping in from the front door –

TANK.

WASN’T.

STAYING.

With a growl, Negaduck scrubbed at his eyes. This was his and Gosalyn’s Holiday! Not his and the intruding neighbors!

“Is something wrong, sir?”

“Ugh – just – it’s nothing. Look,” he finally pulled his hands from his eyes and glared at the canary, “I bring up the bedrooms because this place only has two and you aren’t sleeping in either of them.”

Tank was stunned, and sat back. “I wasn’t aware I was sleeping here at all.”

Negaduck was stunned as well, but in a brief moment of apathy, no longer cared. He let himself keep talking.

“Look, you’re a smart kid, supposedly. You’re not going to go blabbing to anyone about the weak points in my home defenses or the best points of access, or whatever.”

“You mean the garage?”

The feathers on the back of Negaduck’s neck bristled. “ _Not that there are any… Anyway,_ even if you _were_ , _no one_ deserves to spend a night in the house as the piece of filth McQuack. Especially if they don’t want to. So, I guess you’re bunking on the couch.”

On cue, the TV screen cleared, with a scene from _It’s A Wonderful Life_ flickering into focus.

“ _Look Daddy_ ,” little Zuzu Bailey said, “ _teacher says that every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings_!”

Negaduck and Tank stared at each other for a moment. The mallard blinked, followed by the canary.

“Don’t ever call me an ‘angel’,” he growled, and Tank nodded fervently. Negaduck searched him for a moment, flicked his eyes back to the TV, and sighed. “Good.”

He let Tank scramble out of his way as he stormed to the kitchen.

“Don’t touch my, uh, crap.”

Tank replied with his understanding and stood, looking around. After a hesitant moment, he eased himself onto the edge of the couch, rubbing his arms and hands to try to warm them up. Something in the couch creaked but it held together under the canary’s weight, and he say back a little more. He eyed the pile of blankets and guns and thought about maybe borrowing one, a blanket that is, but instead, took his coat off and used that as a cover. He didn’t think Negaduck, Lord of the Negaverse, would take kindly to him touching his guns, which he was, based on the familiar scent of oil and sounds of metal on metal, currently cleaning.

“The blanket on the top is mine. The black one goes with the couch. Use it and don’t get my furniture dirty. I don’t want your Blunderfoot germs getting everywhere.”

A smile stretched across Tank’s beak, and he gently, carefully separated the black blanket from the bundle, and wrapped it around himself quickly. Negaduck had meant what he said about the draft.

The young canary sighed and watched the rest of the movie. The picture wasn’t the best, he’d have to pick up some parts to fully repair it later, assuming Negaduck ever let him back on his property again, but something told him it was the best the old television had been in a long, long time.

“How the heck did you get past the mines?”

Tank straightened at the voice, and raised his voice over the noise from the TV. “I’ll show you in the morning, if you’d like, as well as how I got into the garage. It will be light then. Apologizes for that, by the way, trespassing like I did. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

Negaduck didn’t respond, but Tank thought he heard something like a grunt come from the old duck.

No, this wasn’t home. And yes, it was Christmas, but he was… content, where he was. He was safe, at least.

Tank giggled to himself quietly, sure to muffle the noise the best he could. Safe in the home of the Lord of the Negaverse.

 _“It’s a Christmas miracle!”_ the TV said, and Tank nodded.

It was indeed.


	9. Rats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are heading into the final part of this collection, a two-parter that will wrap this whole crazy mess up.

Negaduck wanted to burn Christmas trees. He wanted to see the huge blaze, feel the cracking of plastic ornaments under his feet, and watch the ash fly into the air like stars against the smog canopy. He wanted the heat and smoke to fill his lungs and excite his blood, and his vision to blur as he watched the tower of flames reach high above his head, the excited mummers of the Negaverse citizens around him as they shared this, their only cooperative event.

Because whether they were villains or not, on his payroll or paying him with their stolen goods and obedience, they were his citizens. He was their leader.

And after the month that he had had, he’d been thinking a lot about his city. Memorizing the new lanes and paths and alleys, surveying the metaphorical wall that separated the two halves of the peninsula, guarding it even, and watching the common folk and villains under him all join together to celebrate a Holiday he still didn’t see the worth in, had changed their image in his mind. At one point, he was just their tyrannical overlord. “Lord of the Negaverse.” Feared, hated, and resented. He liked it. But after a lonely, pitiful month of self-diagnosed injuries, replacing his own stitches, carrying himself to the bathroom and to bed, shoving some kind of nourishment down his throat, and cleaning himself after he puked it up, he was beginning to feel like he had never really left Oblivion.

Heck, sometimes, he still wasn’t entirely sure that he had. And once and awhile while in the depths of his fever-induced dreams, he swore he still was. Even the Muddledrools had been gone the last few days, so with the bitter cold and the hustle and bustle of Christmas, most all activity had been drawn to the city. It means his neighborhood had been quieter than a graveyard.

It was his graveyard.

Which was fine. It meant he could wake up screaming or blast at a ghost and no one would wonder. But it also meant that if he passed out or was so crippled with pain he couldn’t get to the morphine, no one was coming to help.

Goslayn wasn’t coming to help. She had her own life.

The Blunnderfoots weren’t coming to help.

Even that useless piece of trash McQuack had been kicked back out all over again. And Negaduck didn’t _want_ him to come help.

Negaduck had never demanded to have someone else in his life ever. He tried not to be too demanding on Gosalyn. Her life had moved on without him, and rightfully so. It was his own idiocrasy that had landed him in Oblivion for the last three years, and if moving on meant she was stronger, healthier, and –

And happier, then good. She deserved to be free of his weight.

Speaking of young chickadees that were better off without him, Christine, once his pin-curled Gosalyn, was gone too. His own kid. Banished with her troop of goody-goody lackeys to another universe and finally out from under foot. At least in this new universe they couldn't keep stealing the credit that belonged to his Gosalyn, the right Gosalyn, for rebuilding the Negaverse.

The loneliness had nearly been the death of him. Literally. Recently. In Oblivion. In his childhood. He decided that having a cold home was no longer an option. He didn’t want isolation to be one either.

So, he turned to his city. His beautiful city, that had grown, that had _prospered_ so much. Imagining the pile of flaming trees in the center of the square brought a new kind of warmth to him. St. Canard had come through so much. Gosalyn’s life-force-bringing-magic had worked endless miracles. And now S.H.U.S.H. was there. Discovering the gross infection underneath the surface was a kind of bittersweet comfort. Things weren’t perfect. Things were still messy, and dark, and muddy. He still had work to do, and his city still needed him to do it. That’s why he had marched his ailing, sickly self into the center square to burn the pile of trees he expected to find.

Except, there were no trees. There were no crowds of onlookers, no by-standers, and no groups of citizens trying to contain their excitement and rush the burning gave them.

All was quiet and empty.

The city decided the forfeit the ceremony this year.

And Negaduck marched to the nearest, dirties bar he could find. He wanted to fight someone, and knew a Christmas-sick drunkard would be a willing participant.

What he didn’t expect to find was Megavolt.

The rat was sitting at the bar, a basket of pretzels near him and not a drop of liquid in sight. Of course, the only reason Negaduck recognized the high-wired rodent was because of the power conductor hat on screwed onto his head. The yellow suit, gloves, and rubber boots had all been covered, or replaced, by the oversized winter coat and weather-appropriate substitutions. Negaduck had never considered that his lackeys would strip their villainous wardrobe for something in defense to the harsh weather. What did they do when they weren’t doing his jobs for them? Not only that, but Negaduck noticed that Megavolt was alone. None of the other vagrants wanted to bother the rat, who munched and crunched on the pretzels with an angry vengeance.

It made Negaduck wonder just how long it had been since he had seen or heard from his lackeys. He’d been knocked off his feet for the last week and a half, the cold had kept everyone in their own holes, but he hadn’t heard anything about any rogue pilgrimages to the Primeverse for some end-of-the-year hijinks. It seemed his entire world had been just as quiet as he had been, and he slapped the ice and snow off his fedora and sleeves, marching for the bar.

Megavolt’s ear twitched when he heard someone climb into the stool next to him, and growled, curling in more closely on himself.

“Buzz off,” the rat grumbled, scooting his basket away from his new neighbor and closer to himself. “This end’s reserved.”

A gun cocked, a metal clicking that Megavolt would recognize anywhere, and a familiar Glock flashed into his vision. His ears perked up, but he kept still, the gun inches from his temple.

“I ought to blow your brains out here and now for that pun,” a husky voice sneered, and Megavolt blinked, turning in his chair to stare up the barrel of the old pistol. Shifting his weight slightly, he peered around it and at the masked mallard who squinted back at him.

“Oh, it’s you,” the rat rolled his eyes and turned back forward. When he realized the gun hadn’t moved, he slapped it away, shoving some pretzels in his mouth.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Negaduck released the lock, flicked on the safety, and holstered the gun. “And it’s you. There. No longer strangers.”

“I didn’t think we ever were?”

“That so? Where you been all month?”

Megavolt’s whiskers twitched in thought, and he nodded, clipping the pretzels into pieces with his buckteeth. Negaduck took a few and crunched on them.

“Least I’m still home,” muttered Megavolt. “Course, now I’m the only one.”

Negaduck frowned and looked at the rat, who blinked at him.

“The other one, the one – uh – the – the nice one,” Megavolt motioned to the world around them. “The one who they say built all this.”

“Oh,” the duck turned back forward, folding his arms across the bar. “Those ‘Friendly Four’ idiots.”

“Yeah,” smiled the rat with a snap of his fingers. “ _That’s_ what they called themselves. What a bunch of buzz-kills. What dimension you toss them into?”

“You make another pun like that,” Negaduck grabbed a glass from the bar and popped a few ice cubs into his mouth, “and I may never tell you.”

“Eh, old habit.”

The two villains sat in silence for a few minutes, idly consuming their various snacks. Someone moved to change the out-of-tune Christmas music coming from the old juke box in the corner, but Negaduck let one bullet fly over their head as warning, and no one tried to touch it again.

The duck let himself wonder just how long Megavolt had been wondering about the dimensions, and all the possibilities it came with. True, he and the other Four weren’t strangers to the Negaverse, but it wasn’t their home dimension, and traveling back and forth between the two had become a lot more frequent than Negaduck would have liked, now that he thought about it. Things were a lot easier when it was just him, traveling back and forth like visitations between the patents, but now the Four were here, were home, and they weren’t going back to the Primeverse unless he planned it.

“Where _you_ been all month?” asked Megavolt, and Negaduck’s attention twitched to him.

“Busy.”

“Heard something about some huge showdown at the Whacky Tuna. Uh, this Whacky Tuna, not the – the other one.”

Poor stupid rat still wasn’t sure how to talk about traveling back and forth between worlds. Maybe he hadn’t been thinking about it as much as Negaduck assumed, but that would be just like Megavolt. Genius and crazy mixed together like oil and water. You were never sure what you were going to get.

“Did you?”

“Something about a fire and a helicopter.”

“Fascinating.”

“I just figured that –”

“Well, you know what twinkle toes, don’t. You’re the crazy one here, you know. Leave figuring to the professionals.”

“Yeah, but none of them are here.”

Negaduck tried in vain to wrestle the smirk from his bill, and ducked his head so the rat couldn’t see it all. But he had seen enough, Megavolt’s subtle smirk told him, and Negaduck glared a warning.

“Cool your circuits,” the other waved down the duck’s temper. “I won’t tell anyone you have a sense of humor.”

“Everyone already knows that I have a sense of humor!”

“They do?”

“Ha-ha-ha,” the duck deadpanned, and returned to his ice. “I don’t need your help.”

“Whatever you say, _boss_.”

Megavolt had said the title with just enough punch that Negaduck realized how foreign it was for him to hear it. In fact, it had been years since he last heard it.

How long had it been since he organized something for his criminals to do? Like, a good and proper job? Something more than just taking down Tauras Bulba or petty theft?

“How long has it been since you worked?” Megavolt asked, and Negaduck blinked. He frowned and looked up at the rat.

Since when was Megavolt psychic?

The rat glanced at him and, seeing the confused, and slightly hostile expression, flinched.

“What?! We just haven’t heard from you in, like, ages. Or had a good job. Either you’re working solo or –”

“Who says I’ve been working solo?”

Megavolt clipped a pretzel into pieces. “QJ, mostly. Bud’s been too happy that the Bay is back to be worried about work, and heck, Bushy’s one of those seasonal workers. He’s been all aglow with work recently. But QJ’s always been antsy. Especially this time of year.”

Darn, Megavolt was right. Almost getting himself killed hadn’t just affected Negaduck, but his business as well. He clenched his fists and shoved the empty glass away from him.

“If that putty-headed play-time knob has been doing work without me –!”

“Pipe down,” Megavolt said, waving down the duck's temper. “No one has been working lately. All’s been quiet.”

 

Negaduck finally tore his eyes off the rodent and turned to the bar, scrubbing at his face. He let out a quiet sigh and leaned his face into his hands, staring ahead into the empty air.

“I should plan some jobs.”

“It would be nice…”

“But?” the duck glanced at the rat, who mirrored his pose.

“I don’t know. The break has been nice. I’ve been able to get some things in order.”

“There are still Christmas lights in place.”

“Yeah, well, I said _some_ things. Not all of them. I’ve still got millions of little children to liberate come New Year.”

Sitting back, a frown curled Negaduck’s face, and he searched the confused rat.

“The heck is ‘New Year’?”

“Wait,” Megavolt sat back and frowned at the other villain, “you’re not kidding? Good grief, what do you do with yourself when you’re not working?”

“Keep working,” bit the duck. “Why? What did I miss?”

“Oh boy…” shaking his head, Megavolt pulled his goggles off his face and cleaned them. The goggles were forgotten pretty quickly, however, when he started speaking, his hands circling in the air as he stumbled over his words. “New Years is when the, uh, year rolls over. It’s the last day of the old year. Or, is it the last day of the new year? No, the first day of the last year. No…”

“Forget it,” waved Negaduck, facing the bar again, his hands returning to his face. “But you’re telling me there’s another friggin’ holiday I have to keep track of?”

“I guess,” Megavolt replied with a shrug after a moment of thought. He put his goggles back in place, having forgotten to clean them. “But it’s not exactly new.”

“And – by the way, the heck happened to the big tree burning in town center? Since when was that not a thing? Bushroot been protesting or something?”

“Oh yeah, I remember that. Sorry, but it’s been a few years.”

“You haven’t done it in years? Not since –”

“Quivering was a big fan of Christmas. She wasn’t going to make us burn it all down.”

“I never made anyone burn it all down,” muttered the duck. “I just… encouraged it.”

“You need to learn a thing or two about consent.”

“I need to learn _nothing_ about that!” snapped Negaduck. “And don’t you dare-!”

“Okay, okay!” the rat raised both hands quickly, managing to stop the duck’s tirade. “Not what I meant.”

Negaduck searched him for a minute, eyes darting back and forth between pinpricks of darkness in the blue goggles. “Good,” he bit, crawling back onto the bar.

“Someone’s touchy.”

“Yep.”

“You –”

“Before you ask if I’m okay, stop and consider how many different words can be used to describe the sound of a gun firing a bullet into your brain.”

That got him some silence for a while, and Negaduck leaned on the cracked, worn wood of the bar, picking at its surface with his claws.

What good was coming to a bar if he never intended on drinking?

The rat next to him, even without his gear and suit, buzzed with electricity, and it made Negaduck’s feathers stand on end. Electricity was no longer his friend, and the memory of it had given him a – a – a

It wasn’t pleasant.

But the rat himself had never been a particularly aggravating thorn in Negaduck’s side. He wasn’t the brightest of the gang, ironically, and definitely brought an entire luggage set of memory, attention, and stability issues to the volatile mix, but he – in another stroke of irony – was far from the craziest. Quackerjack could get carried away much too easily for Negaduck’s liking, and the crazed toy-maker was hard pressed to follow instructions, despite being one of the more creative villains. Maybe his own creativity was his downfall, and the main reason he didn’t follow orders. He always saw another, possibly more inventive, way of doing things despite Negaduck’s clear instructions. But Negaduck didn’t care what the toy-maker thought he could dream up. Negaduck was in charge.

Bushroot was barely a villain. He was some sniveling weed who needed to grow a backbone, and only acted out when his precious feelings were hurt, or he had been threatened enough.

Liquidator – the thought of the water-made mutt made Negaduck shiver – was one of the few losers on his payroll who had yet to even _begin_ to grasp his full potential. The beagle was living water. He could drown the entire world if he wanted, but a case of pride and laziness kept him from doing so. Of course, he was still one of the most loyal and patient of all the knobs, waiting for orders and fulfilling them without hesitation.

Of course, he was made out of _water_. What the heck did he have to be hesitant about?

The thought that the dog could reduce both Gosalyn – and now her guardian – to a, forgive the pun, limp puddle of their true selves, made his feathers stand on end.

He hated that dog. But like heck he was going to let Bud know that.

And then there was Megavolt. The electric rat.

The walking electrocution.

Negaduck hated him too. But if he had to choose a favorite – or maybe least annoying – of all the villains in his city, the rat would be a worthy contender. Attentive, patient, loyal, and clever. Megavolt had made a few calls that steered their group of out trouble in the past, because, despite being certifiably crazy, he was the only one that really paid attention. Megavolt was focused, eager to liberate his lightbulbs, or whatever mad mumblings he was going on about, and saw things that the others didn’t. Negaduck had learned to plant the rat as a look out or near the back of the group to help keep everyone else in line. His separation from Quackerjack also helped the duck stay focused.

Plus, Megavolt wasn’t inherently obnoxious. And, Negaduck tossed him a quick glance, maybe even trust-worthy. He’d never known the rat to go back on orders to fail to keep the other members in line if need be. Megavolt had never presented any problems for Quiverwing, and probably never really understood that Negaduck was gone in the first place.

Still, if there was anyone Negaduck might consider sharing a drink with, assuming he drank, it would be the rat.

“Look no further, ladies and gentlemen,” bubbled a cheery voice from the door, and Negaduck flinched, his shoulders tensing, “your search is over! Iiiiiiiit’s Negaduck!”

Negaduck felt the eyes of the entire bar on him, as well as Megavolt’s, and clenched his fists together. His heart began to race at the sound of the waterdog’s voice, but he spun around on the stool anyway, empty glass in his hand.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he swirled the remaining ice and water in the cup and kept his eyes away focused on them, leaning back on the bar and thankful he was able to withhold his grimace at the stretching of his stitches. Megavolt, however, he was pretty sure, noticed anyway. “What’s up, Bubbles? Come to dilute the drinks? Again?”

“Isn’t he a riot, isn’t he a laugh?” Liquidator giggled, sloshing closer to the duck, who made a show of not climbing onto the stool and over the bar to keep away from the watery villain. “Negaduck,” Liquidator lowered his voice considerably when he neared the others, his hands wringing together, “I humbly request a personal audience.”

Both villains at the bar blinked.

“What?” Megavolt asked, having leaned closer to Negaduck.

Liquidator looked between the two of them, motioning at them both with one finger. “If The Liquidator is interrupting something, he’s offering an extension on this one-time deal.”

“No,” Negaduck tried to toss a glare at Megavolt, but felt it fall flat. “It’s your nickel. Start talking.”

“Negaduck, The Liquidator has a time-sensitive offer to make, and only a fool would reject a bargain like this!”

“What offer?”

“I –” Bud glanced at Megavolt and then back to Negaduck, “The Liquidator found some trash in the Bay he thinks might prove very interesting to Negaduck, but hurry, act now! They might not last must longer.”

Negaduck didn’t need a bonfire of dried trees to warm him. The spike of energy, anger, and fear that rushed over him did the job.

“Show me.”


	10. Merry Christmas to all...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. But as we all know, a story never ends.
> 
>  
> 
> It just stops moving.

Liquidator had taken up residence in the old dam that had been half-finished once upon a time when the Bay was actually full, back before it had dried up. Negaduck tugged his parka closer and scrubbed at the chills that covered him at the mere _noise_ of the black water. He couldn’t see it in the darkness, but that almost made it worse. Things, he had learned from experience and practice, were usually scarier if they weren’t seen.

Completely oblivious to their leader’s discomfort, Liquidator lead the way down the small hill and to the heavy concrete door that locked unwanted visitors out of the half-finished construction site. Negaduck tore his hands off his arms and shoved them in his pockets in tight fists, glancing over his shoulder at Megavolt. Yes, the rat had begrudgingly come along, more or less at Negaduck’s direct order, though he continued to insist that he didn’t see the point of his attendance. Negaduck had just rolled his eyes and bit back something along the lines of “because I told you to.” This didn’t completely shut the villain up, but his protests turned to unhappy musings under his breath instead of out loud.

After having hauled the heavy door open, Liquidator ushered them inside, descending a narrow stair case and into musty, moldy blackness. The other two hung back for a few minutes, just long enough for the water dog to double back and make sure they were still coming. “Of course, we are,” Negaduck had insisted, shoving past the dog and trying to contain his shudder as some water splashed onto his sleeve, “I was just looking for a light.” Unfortunately, the old dam wasn’t one for lighting, but after Megavolt gave the light switch a good zap, they could see well enough. Negaduck tossed him a warning glare when he went to praise himself, and nodded Liquidator back ahead. The dog splashed to his place and took the lead, descending further and further down the stairs.

Negaduck hated this. He hated this a _lot_. The cold concrete walling him in on all sides, the must thickening the air, the cold stinging the bottom of his feet, the dampness clinging to his feathers and his lungs… with every step, he was moving closer and closer to his old cell back in that prison basement, where S.H.U.S.H. had apparently forgotten about him and his father had so crudely enjoyed playing with him. His hands snaked out of his pockets and found their ways to his arms again, messaging and tugging at his sleeves as they began to tremble.

Marble, he repeated to himself. Strong and sturdy marble.

If this _was_ some kind of trap, he’d shove the beagle into a million different bottles and ship them around all four corners of the world. Heck, maybe he’d even scatter a few in the other dimensions just for fun. He’d already reduced his Liquidator count by one, he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

Something cried out behind him, and Negaduck stopped and spun around, eyes quickly finding Megavolt, who was folded in on himself, cowering away from – from nothing, Negauck’s eyes told him as they searched the area around the rat.

“ _Geeez_ , Bud,” Megavolt sneered, carefully unfolding himself enough to glare at the dog, “I thought you said this place was a dam!”

“It is,” splashed the dog as he returned to them, searching the scene over Negaduck’s head.

“Then why is it _leaking_ everywhere?!”

Oh, right. Negaduck felt himself relax a touch when he realized what had triggered the rat, spotting a dripping puddle of inky water oozing its way down the wall.

“They never finished it,” replied Liquidator, sloshing past their leader and licking up the puddle with one touch of his finger. “And, I can’t say I ever noticed.”

“Well you better start noticing, you mutant mutt,” bit the duck, his arms crossing in annoyance. “How much further, anyway? I’ve got more important crap to get done than just touring your friggin’ hideout. Which, by the way, is _disgusting_."

“Not far, not far,” Liquidator moved back around Negaduck and shook his head, motioning for them to follow. Negaduck eyed the rat that stepped beside him and offered him a helpless shrug, and stormed ahead with a scoff.

Their footsteps echoed off the moldy concrete, and the sloshing of the dog leading them became louder and louder. A few random drips from soaked walls sounded, and deep moaning from rusted pipes followed them down the halls and further down, deeper and deeper.

His breath was getting short and his chest tight, and Negaduck tried to focus on the tiptoeing rodent behind him instead of _everything_ _else_ about this place that was teasing with his deep... _hatred_ of water. Megavolt had a legitimate reason to be scared of his surroundings, and Negaduck growled up at Liquidator on the rat’s behalf. The duck had a feeling Bud couldn’t hear how Megavolt was even closer to a panic attack then Negaduck was, having already been terrified out of his wits once. Well, what wits he had left.

“Come one, come all,” the dog gurgled quietly, reaching a heavy metal door off to the side of the hallway. After molding himself around it, he pried and heaved it open, the metal groaning loudly as its old hinges were moved and it was scraped along the floor. While Liquidator worked, Negaduck glanced around them, at the few light bulbs that flickered overhead, the mold that crawled over practically every surface, and the rat that was twisting in anguish behind him.

Megavolt was a mess. His hands didn’t know where to rest or scrub at to get his over-active nerves to settle down, and continued to wring over each other, again and again, before crossing, twisting, and padding all around him. His feet shuffled, and knees bent, and every movement squeaked of rubber just barely muffled by his heavy coat. His head, Negaduck was pretty sure, had been placed on a swivel, considering it couldn’t stop darting around.

Negaduck _really_ needed Megavolt to calm down. Bringing the rat along as a support should anything happen to him wasn’t going to work out very well if Elmo threw himself helmet first into the panic attack forming on the edge of his frayed mind.

Besides, it was starting to unnerve Negaduck. At least this way he had something to be mad at instead of drowning in his own fear.

Not that he was afraid.

“Enough of the games,” he growled as Liquidator pulled himself away from the door and returned to his normal form. “Where are they?”

“You may not believe what I’m about to show you,” replied Liquidator, motioning into the room, “but I assure you, The Liquidator never lies to his costumers! Your prize, good sir.”

Yeah, the last thing Negaduck wanted to do was walk into a room that a wave of cold and death literally _rolled out of_ as soon as the door had been opened. But, he found his matchbox, lit one, and righted his shoulders. He needed to find out if the water-dog had been bluffing about his catch or not.

“Hey, Batteries,” he turned to the rat, who had perked up at the light and energy of the matches, “stop dragging your tail and get in here.”

“D’oh,” Megavolt grumbled, but stepped closer anyway. With the rodent at his back, Negaduck marched into the room, and immediately felt sick.

If he thought the air in the rest of the dam had been thick, he had been terribly deceived. This room, he lifted the matches to see better, was large and round, with piping that criss-crossed the high ceiling, and a few large chunks of machinery that he couldn’t identify stacked against the back wall. Death and wetness and stillness filled the air like fog, and he heard Megavolt blanch and cover his nose at the scent and weight of it.

What caught Negaduck’s attention though, was the bodies. Three of them hung from the ceiling by their ankles, still damp and dripping sludge and water onto the floor. The fourth was tied to a metal chair in the center of the room, unmoving.

They all wore suits, and had they not been destroyed by the water yet, most likely concealed some kind of secret weapon.

Spies, he had learned, tended to do that. Especially S.H.U.S.H. spies.

Negaduck hissed when the match burnt up and snapped at his fingers, shaking the flame out and tossing the rest of it aside. He scrambled for another but Megavolt stopped him. From his coat, the rat produced a light bulb of his own, brought it to life with his fingers, and lifted it above his head, illuminating the room with a gentle, white glow. Negaduck watched him, looked around the room under the soft light, and began his inspection. He circled the body once, eyes on the bodies hanging from the ceiling, and then aimed his attention on the poor fool in the chair as he passed by Megavolt.

The heat and energy buzzing off the rat sent warm chills up his arms, and he pulled strength from it.

“You know them?” asked Megavolt, watching his leader pass by him and stand near the door. Negaduck nodded, but kept his eyes on the living captive.

“Mutt,” he snapped, and Liquidator splashed to his side. “Where’d you find them?”

“They were caught on the old gutted pieces of this place. That poor fool was the only one still alive when the Liquidator found them. I figured I’d fish them all out though. The Liquidator has been trying to clean up the Bay, you know.”

“There’s nothing poor or foolish about them,” Negaduck replied, crossing his arms. “Well, besides this one. He should have had the sense to drown like his buddies. Get those three out of there.” Negaduck nodded to the hanging bodies and Liquidator moved to obey.

“What do you want me to do with them?” the dog asked, the bodies piled on his shoulder.

“Dump them somewhere close. I want to search them myself when this is over.”

With a nod, Liquidator pulled the pile out of the room and disappeared, Megavolt’s eyes chasing after him. For a moment, it was quiet again.

“Megavolt,” the duck breathed, and the rat nodded.

His rubber boots squeaking, Megavolt shuffled closer to the figure, his leader’s gaze on him. He switched the lightbulb between his hands and reached the other hand for the captive’s muzzle, a small spark bridging between the two, the agent coughing and sputtering to life. Megavolt backpedaled quickly, and switched the bulb between his hands again. He glanced at Negaduck, who watched the captive cough and wiggle, something unreadable dancing across the duck’s face.

Was it rage? Concentration? Something in between? Megavolt had never been very strong at reading others and settled with a shrug, shifting his feet. All he knew was that whatever was about to happen, he wasn’t going anywhere until it was over.

But Negaduck had practically forgotten that the rat was even there. The surviving agent now in his possession, who was still clawing at reality, was the only thing worth thinking about at the present.

Negaduck had questions, questions he hadn’t been able to ask Gander before blowing holes in the little turd. Maybe this lackey had answers.

The agent was young, very young. His muzzle and black nose reminded Negaduck of Gosalyn’s –that Goof kid. Torturing him was going to be very difficult so long as he had the face of Negaduck’s future son-in-law.

Finally, the kid – the _agent’s_ eyes adjusted to the bleak room, and his breathing evened out. His eyes, which had been darting around, found Negaduck, and stayed on him. A hoarse chuckle escaped him, and the agent scoffed.

“Well, well, well, Drake Mallard. I’d say it’s an honor.”

“It is,” Negaduck replied, fully aware of Megavolt’s eyes on him. “So say it.”

A smirk curled the agent’s lips, and he settled into his bounds. His jaw, he clamped close.

Negaduck’s eyes twitched, Megavolt’s attention darting back and forth between the two. The agent and his leader both refused to move.

He had one of them. He had an agent of that invisible force that knew who he was and knew who Gosalyn was and knew about the dimensions and knew about his father. The force that had nearly killed him, had sent Quiverwing home early, and was the throbbing, disgusting foundation his kingdom had been built on.

The rest he could forgive. But not the part about his girl.

He had told Gander that Gosalyn was his, and that wasn’t a total lie, even if it had been a strategic admission. Maybe if they thought Gosalyn was his daughter, they wouldn’t be so eager to sniff out their dimensional portals. He wasn’t going to let these scum-suckers get anywhere near his other kingdom. Or Gosalyn’s home.

Unfortunately, that admission had probably died with Gander. Now, S.H.U.S.H. was still on their intellectual fence, unsure of just who Gosalyn Mallard was in relation to Drake. Or to Negaduck.

After several minutes, the duck uncrossed his arms and reached to a pocket behind him.

“What are you going to do,” laughed the agent, Negaduck’s ear perking up as he pulled his hunting knife from its sheath on his belt, “ _torture_ me? _Beat_ me? Have your rat-lackey over there _electrocute_ me?... _Cut_ up the bottom of my feet? … _Muzzle_ me? _Drown_ me in my own clothes? … You going to make me _choose_?”

All movement from the duck had stopped, and he stared long and hard at the young agent. Megavolt continued to glance back and forth between them, eyes lingering on his leader just a little longer with each look. Negaduck’s face was unreadable and stern, and the knife was half-drawn from his coat.

“Yeah,” smirked the agent, shifting his shoulders. “Dear old Daddy taught us well. If you think you’re going to end up any differently than Stellar, then you’ve got—”

“No,” Negaduck said, freeing the knife of his coat and flipping it around in his hand. He presented it to Megavolt. “In fact, Megs, untie him.”

The rat hesitated only a minute, searching his leader’s calm eyes, and shrugged, taking the knife. The agent bristled as Megavolt stepped closer, sawing through the ropes while fumbling with the light bulb. Eventually, he cut through them, and Negaduck drew his Glock and aimed it at the agent the second the young spy flinched. Swinging wide behind the chair, Megavolt approached Negaduck from his side and offered the knife, but the duck shook his head.

“This,” he twisted the gun around to show the best angles off to the agent, “is my favorite gun. I _love_ this gun. Megavolt?” Negaduck offered the rat his pistol, and, after leaping away from it with a yelp, Megavolt stared up at Negaduck in confusion, avoiding the weapon but at least three feet. “Exactly. This one knows better than the touch my gun, and he’s crazy. _Everyone_ knows better than to touch my gun. She’s gotten me out of a lot of scrapes in the past, including scattering that dumb bear’s brains all over his own rear end and beheading Gander. He took two bullets, little punk, but drowned on his own blood at the end of the day. But you don’t care about that. All you stupid S.H.U.S.H. agents care about is dear old Poppa.”

“And why not?” the agent crossed his arms, rubbing some warmth back into them. “Stellar Mallard is a cunning, brilliant spy.”

“Yeah, he sure was. You say,” Negaduck withdrew the gun and shined it with a corner of his cape, “that he taught S.H.U.S.H. _everything_ he knew? All his methods and secrets?”

The agent scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Of course he hasn't taught us _everything_ he knows. No one knows _everything_ he knows.”

“You believe that?”

Blinking, the agent frowned, almost in offense. “Yes! He's taught us a lot, but certainly not everything!”

“You’re young,” Negaduck crossed his arms again and cocked his hips. “But you talk about Stellar like you knew him.”

“I _do_ know him. He oversees everything S.H.U.S.H. does. He’s our leader. And he’s a brilliant, fierce leader.”

“You’re not wrong,” Negaduck shifted his feet. “He was all of those things.”

“He _is_ those and more! And you’ll never amount to half of the duck he is!”

Megavolt, light bulb held at his shoulder, looked to his leader. Negaduck didn’t flinch at the remark, heck, he hadn’t shown any reaction during this entire conversation. Sure, he fidgeted, and his voice moved up and down, but Megavolt knew the duck, and knew him well.

Everything was going exactly to plan.

“So where is your leader now?”

Something that sounded like a growl came from the agent, and his shoulders stiffened. It looked like he had finally realized just how much blabbing he had done.

“That’s classified.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes it is!”

“You can’t answer because you don’t know.”

“We do know, I just can’t tell you!”

“Then where is he?”

“That’s classified!”

“And you believe that?”

“I—” the agent blinked, and straightened. “Yes! S.H.U.S.H. is smarter than you give us credit for, Mallard! We know things you can’t even imagine!”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“And you’re sure about _that_?”

“Absolutely!”

“Even under torture?”

“I’ll die to serve S.H.U.S.H.!”

Negaduck nodded, a small hum escaping him. “Well, they say you are your parents. So, I’m going to follow in Poppa’s footsteps, but come on, it’s not _me_ without a little extra flare, amIright?”

“That’s just what I would expect,” spit the agent, watching Negaduck move himself and Megavolt a few steps away from the door. Negaduck carefully positioned Megavolt, stepping back to double check the perfect spacing. “All flare and no substance. So, what’s this master plan of yours? Psychological? Physical? Are you are hoping I get bored with you?”

“Sheesh,” Negaduck glanced up at Megavolt, finding his eyes among the glow of the goggles, “super-special-secret-spies these days. So impatient.”

Megavolt nodded, unsure, and Negaduck nodded in return, his arms still on the rat’s sleeves. Breaking loose, he spun around with a great fling of his cape, facing the agent. “My plan, since you _must_ know, is just what Stellar would have done. I’m going to give you a _choice_.”

Megavolt watched as Negaduck paced forward carefully, eyes on the uneasy agent. Slowly, carefully, he knelt, placed his Glock on the concrete floor, and retreated. The weapon sat, alone, exactly between himself and the agent, who frowned up at Negaduck.

“There. Try and go for the gun. Splatter my brains all over this place like I did that bear. Or shoot me right between the ribs and take half of this old ticker with it. Killing Negaduck with his own, prized weapon. There’s no bigger accomplishment than that, not if you were really trained by my father. I’ll even make you work for it, but not too much. All’s fair, and what not.”

The agent’s eyes flicked back and forth between the gun, the duck, and the rat. He actually looked like he was considering it.

“What’s the catch?”

“Ah, so there are some brains in there somewhere.”

“You said there was an option. What’s the other option?”

“The other option is where things get a little complicated. See that – LIQUIDATOR!”

The dog, who had just stepped into the door way Negaduck motioned to, flinched, the duck glaring at him.

“You rang?”

“MOVE!”

Blinking, the waterdog sloshed into the cell, hands folded in front of himself hesitantly.

“Go sit in the corner!” bit the duck, pointing to the far corner of the room. Liquidator gave the room’s occupants one more look-over, shrugged, and sloshed to where he had been sent. “Sit!” Negaduck barked, and Liquidator did so, the duck dropping his arm with a sigh. He tore his fedora off his head, combing the other through his feathers, and settled the hat back into place. “Anyway, _that_ is the door to freedom. You’re free to take it. We won’t stop you.”

“This doesn’t seem very different than what Stellar taught us. Where’s the ‘flare’ you promised?”

“Oh,” Negaduck backpedaled, placing a hand onto his chest. “I’m sorry, were you expecting me to fall exactly into Poppa’s footprints? You were expecting me to lie about something? Sorry kid, but not this time. That way leads to freedom. That way is a fair chance to see me dead. Or, is that not enough flare for you?”

The agent, for the first time, kept his mouth shut.

“Yeah, I see what you mean. That’s where dead old Daddy and I differ, the dramatic factor of it all. I’m not making you choose between one torture or another, I’m offering a reward.”

“What’s that?”

“You take the door? It’s your freedom. You escape Negaduck and two of his lackeys. The only one to go crawling home. Good for you. Through yourself a friggin' party or something. But, if you try to fight for that gun, and survive, I’ll tell you.”

“… Tell me what?”

“Exactly how I _killed_ Stellar Mallard.”

All at once, someone dropped a blanket of lead into the room. Megavolt flinched and gawked at Negaduck, Liquidator frowned and sat upright, and the agent, well, he laughed.

Loudly.

And Negaduck barely contained his smirk.

“You? Killed Stellar Mallard?”

Crossing his arms and lifting his chin, Negaduck let the agent laugh it out. Eventually, the giggles faded.

“Done?”

“Maybe. You really expect me to believe that _you_ killed _Stellar Mallard_? You? His pathetic son?”

“You seem to already have your mind made up.”

“There was no contest!”

“You seem pretty confident.”

“I know I’m right.”

“Wouldn’t you like to be sure?”

That shut the agent’s mouth. He clipped his jaw close, and eyed the gun.  He eyed the door.

The gun.

Megavolt.

The door.

Negaduck.

…

The gun.

Megavolt prepared himself for anything. Negaduck might think he could take the agent and wrestle the gun out of his hands, or somehow dodge a bullet, but Megavolt knew better. He had seen the way the duck flinched when he moved too much in one direction or how he favored his left side. Their leader might be cocky, but he wasn’t crazy.

Or, maybe he was, Megavolt wasn’t one to judge.

And he wasn’t about to let his leader get himself killed either. That was probably why Negaduck had made him come along in the first place, to watch his back.

Just how much of this had he planned out?

“Stellar Mallard isn’t dead.”

“I guess you’ll just keep thinking that, and just keep being disappointed. Did you,” Negaduck shifted his weight, humored and puzzled at once, “ _expect_ him to still be alive? Does S.H.U.S.H. really think he’ll come back? After all these years?”

The agent said nothing, and Negaduck nodded.

“Wow. That is sad. That – that really is sad. How disappointed you must be.”

“I’m afraid you’re the one that will be disappointed,” the agent growled, “when Stellar Mallard returns and takes control of S.H.U.S.H. again! You'll be his first target! You and that Quiverwing girl.”

So. That was it. These clowns were waiting for their knight in shining armor to return and claim the throne.

He couldn’t describe how satisfying it was to _know_ that that would _never_ happen.

As soon as he had spoken, however, the agent seemed to realize his mistake, and clammed up. Well, Negaduck shifted his weight and tossed a look at Megavolt, who shrugged, it looked like their friendly chit-chat was over.

Now to wait.

And wait they did.

Negaduck stayed in place, standing where he started, sure to keep the Glock equal distance from himself and this… kid. Megavolt had, eventually, sat down and relaxed, but kept the bulb lit, for which Negaduck was grateful. Liquidator had stayed in the corner, watching the scene curiously. It was clear to all of them that the agent wanted the truth. Or else he could have – and would have - bolted long ago.

And Negaduck wasn’t going to let this scrawny know-it-all dare get his hands on his gun.

He _loved_ that gun.

He also knew that Liquidator and Megavolt would have questions. They’d heard so much – too much, but at least it was those two, and not the others. The two who could probably take him down with minimal effort.

Not that Negaduck—

Suddenly, the agent leapt for the gun, but Negaduck was quicker, and before Megavolt could shake awake, a shot rang out, Negaduck having tackled the agent over the chair, tumbling over it, and pinned the agent down by the time the echoes from the shot faded. Negaduck pinned the kid down, the Glock in their tangled hands, pressed into the agent’s neck.

“Nice try kid,” laughed the duck, the surge of adrenalin making his blood rush with excitement and heat. “But you’re too slow!”

“Am I?” the agent laughed and panted. “How’s sparky over there?”

Negaduck flinched, and his eyes broke away from the agent underneath him, and down at their tangled bodies. The agent grunted and yanked on the pistol with a twisted smile, demanding all of Negaduck’s attention.

“Megavolt!” he barked, keeping his eyes on the kid underneath him. “Megavolt! Liquidator-!” but the dog was already moving, splashing to the rat’s side and looking him over.

Megavolt blinked up at him, his senses swarmed and flooded with – something. The light bulb in his hand flickered, and the rat checked it, frowning down at his other hand as well. It was laying across his chest, and it felt – even past the rubber glove – wet.

“The Megavolt we know and love,” Liquidator replied, searching the rat with worried eyes, “now returning, in an extremely limited time offer.”

It took Negaduck a minute to process the words, but when he did, he snarled at the agent, pressing the gun down even harder.

“So – so tell me,” the agent squirmed, his hands shifting and squeezing around Negaduck’s, “tell me. Tell me how you ‘killed’ Stellar Mallard!”

Negaduck didn’t want to tell this kid a darn thing. Firing at his boys had nothing to do with their arrangement. Much less hitting his favorite one.

“Oh,” he purred, “did I say that I’d tell you?”

“Y-yes!” the agent frowned, his face reddening with rage. “You – you swore!”

“Then I guess I am just like Poppa,” Negaduck lowered himself further, leaning his weight into the pistol and his face into the agent’s. “Cause I always disappoint. But tell you what, how about I tell you _why_ he died instead? How about that?”

He was practically shaking with rage and fury and fire, and his eyes barely registered when the agent, completely choked by the Glock’s nuzzle, nodded.

“Yeah,” he smiled wide, a gleaming smile filled with jagged teeth. “You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you? Why Stellar bit the dust.”

“Negaduck!” Liquidator bubbled, his worried tone tugging at the mallard.

“Then I’ll tell you.” Releasing one hand from the Glock, the agent able to relieve some of the pressure on his neck and aim the pistol up into his chin instead, Negaduck reached behind him and unsheathed a straight, green arrow. Twirling it around, he smashed the arrow down into the concrete floor half an inch from the agent’s face, the concrete shattering under the force of the blow. “Stellar Mallard died because he touched Quiverwing. Take that back to S.H.U.S.H.!"

The agent choked out a quick bark of laughter, a smile twisting his face. Suddenly, the gun fired, bits of the agent’s face landing on Negaduck, and the steam of what remained warmed the duck, quite suddenly covered in blood and brains.

He barely registered that Liquidator hurried to his side. His vision swam in the blood and bits that covered his face, unable to fully register the mess underneath him. His hands shook, the Glock still in them and the agent’s still wrapped around his like a vice. Sitting back, Negaduck looked at the tangled knot, seeing the agent’s finger around the trigger.

He was up and off the body in a flash. He blacked out. Nothing registered, not the way he scrambled to his feet, how Liquidator called after him, how he ran for his life through the hallway, up the stairs, and threw his weight into the door, eager and desperate to escape.

That kid had killed himself. Blew his own brains out. He – he – he was right.

He died in his service to S.H.U.S.H.

What kind of damned place was this universe’s S.H.U.S.H. that it had _kids_ so eager to die for it?

The world continued to spin and pulse until Negaduck heard the door behind him creak open. Liquidator slashed up the stairs, something yelping and complaining at his side.

Megavolt shoved Liquidator away from him with a curse, stumbling a half step away and wrapping his arms around himself. Negaduck, he realized, was on the ground a few steps away, folded in on all fours, shaking and trembling and breathing hard. Megavolt studied their leader, hesitant to approach.

He had never noticed the scars that criss-crossed Negaduck’s feet before.

“What a turn, what a shock,” Liquidator said, looking to the rat for a reaction, but Megavolt’s attention was on Negaduck. After a tense moment, the duck turned and barked at him, and Megavolt hurried to his side.

“The _heck_ happened back there?” he hissed, snatching Megavolt's collar and dragging him down into his face. The scent of the blood and bits filled his nostrils, and the rat paled.

“The stray bullet hit one of the pipes,” he squirmed, trying to wiggle his face away from Negaduck's. “I – I shorted out.”

“You… weren’t shot?”

“No?”

“Phone,” the duck snapped, hand outstretched. Megavolt blinked after the duck released his collar, and dug into his pockets for the device, finally handing it over. Snatching it, Negaduck rolled onto his hip and punched in a number.

In another universe, Gosalyn was with her family. She was safe. She was loved.

Her and Dorkwing and the others were at “The Funny Bone”, a comedy club, laughing their way into the New Year. Gosalyn had Max’s arm around her, both young adults laughing and howling as the performers tried absolutely anything to get a rise from her humiliated – and enraged - father. Sure, he’d probably ground her for the rest of her life for volunteering him, but it would be worth it. She could barely breath she was laughing so hard. It would be _so_ worth it.

In her pocket, her phone rang, and she dug it out, checking the number.

“Who’s that?” Max asked, and Gosalyn snorted, trying in vain to catch her breath.

“Probably my other-other dad,” she replied, wiping tears from her eyes.

“How - how can you be sure?”

“It’s a St. Canard area code, but it’s unlisted. He probably just got another new phone. I should,” she tossed Max a hesitant smile and deep sigh, “probably get this.”

“Go ahead,” Max shrugged, watching the young woman stand from their table. “But I don’t think your dad-dad will last much longer.”

“Don’t let him kill you,” smiled Gosalyn, hurrying for the exit. Once in the empty parking lot, hugging herself against the cold night, she answered the call before Negaduck could start panicking too badly. He’d only called her for emergencies. “It’s your nickel, start talking.”

Negaduck nearly collapsed with relief at hearing her voice. She was alive. She was safe. He turned over and dug one hand into the concrete beneath him to steady himself.

“Gosalyn,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. But he knew Megavolt heard him anyway.

“Hey,” she smiled. “What’s up?”

“…”

“Hello?”

“K-keep this number,” the duck bit, and waited for the reply.

“Okay, sure. What happened? You drop your phone into the toilet again-?”

“Just- keep it.”

“I will. What’s … Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Happy New Years!” Gosalyn smiled, waiting for the reply, but the phone beeped instead. Frowning, she checked the device. “He just hung up on me? Rude…”

Tucking the phone back into her pocket, the young hero turned her emerald eyes upward, studying the stars. The same stars would be watching Negaduck, assuming they could cut through the usual smog. She hoped they could. “Be safe, Poppa Wolf.”

Negaduck had never told her what had happened. After his – after he fell, she had insisted on escorting him home, but he had refused. She wasn’t about to walk back to the portal alone, but she had countered that with fine, she wouldn’t walk. She’d drive. If he hadn’t just opened his wounds and broken another rib, and just completely destroyed all the healing progress he had made, no matter how little progress that had been, he would have kept arguing. But he was barely conscious when he dragged himself up the front steps as it was. He was lucky he was able to locate the keys to the pickup truck down the road he had commandeered for such emergencies, he wasn’t going to risk putting her in more danger by going with her. She left without any further arguments or pressuring him into talking, just told him to rest and take care of himself, please, and he was grateful. Had he opened his mouth to explain the words may have never stopped.

And now, kneeling on the cold, hard ground, blood and bits of skin and bone and brains covering him, that familiar feeling was returning.

He had said he didn’t want to be alone anymore. But he had never felt more so than this moment.

S.H.U.S.H. was nothing like he expected it to be. It was nothing like he had thought it was. It wasn’t just a spy organization that his Poppa started. It was something that Stellar’s fingerprints glowed against. These kids, these agents, they were practically his disciples. Missions were their warfare, and Stellar…

He was their god.

Even from Oblivion, he’d continue to plague his son. If Stellar himself couldn’t get his hands on Drakey or Gosalyn, or St. Canard, someone would do it for him. Someone with reach and influence and secrets and shadows. Someone scary –

Terrifying.

And someone dangerous.

“Don’t,” the duck bit, heaving himself painfully to his feet and handing Megavolt the phone, “loose this. _Got it_?”

“Yeah, sure,” shrugged the rat, impossibly blue eyes glaring at him. “Got it.” He pocketed the phone, after finding the right pocket, and gave a start, realizing Negaduck was already storming away.

“Where are we going?” he asked, catching up to their leader, Liquidator splashing after them.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” asked the duck, using his sleeve to wipe the blood and bits off his face with a grimace.

“You said you were going to organize something for us to do,” Megavolt replied. “And whatever scared that kid enough to blow his own brains out…”

“That’s right, looks like we’ve got a genuine hunt on our hands, ladies and gentlemen, a genuine hunt indeed!”

Stopping in his tracks, Negaduck spun around and glared up at the two.

“There’s no ‘we’ in this!” he growled. “This isn’t a job. This isn’t a hunt. This is cold-blooded revenge, and if you think I’m going to let you two knobs slow me down, you’ll wish you had that kid’s fate. This has _nothing_ to do with you. It’s between me and the rest of them.”

“You and that Mallard guy?” asked Megavolt, and the feathers on the back of Negaduck’s neck bristled.

“Yeah. Me and him. So, keep your stinking noses out of it. Do I make myself _clear_?”

The other villains swapped uncertain looks, the dog shuffling backwards to give Megavolt room to approach the furious mallard.

Without a word, Megavolt presented Negaduck with his Glock, a few specks of blood sticking to it.

Negaduck blinked, and glanced up at the rat.

“So,” Liquidator smacked his fist into his palm and scooted closer, “when do we start?”

This was… What was happening? Were these two villains pledging their allegiance to him? Did they realize what had just happened? The kind of people he would be going after? Had they any kind of idea what they were getting themselves into?

How much Negaduck was going to need their help?

“New Years,” he said, taking the gun and wiping the blood off with his cape. “Since that’s a thing. But first,” he holstered the gun, no longer able to deny the excitement that was bubbling up inside him, “we’ve got a Christmas to burn.”

Megavolt and Liquidator howled in excitement, high fiving. Negaduck barely contained his smirk.

“Alright, knock it off!” he snapped, and the others did so. He was still in charge, here.

“Yay,” Megavolt whispered to himself, shooting a few sparks out of his fingertips.

“I thought you said you were enjoying the break,” Negaduck cocked one eyebrow at the rat, crossing his arms.

Megavolt blinked, frowning up at him. “When did I say that? Wait, who are we going after?”

“A duck named Stellar,” Negaduck tugged his fedora back onto his head after brushing the chunks and bits off it, his eyes shining. “Stellar Mallard.”

“And what he do?”

“His clowns are moving in on our city.”

Megavolt seemed to process everything that was told to him, glanced up at Liquidator, and smiled. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Maybe one reason Negaduck liked strays so much was because he was one. He was an orphan in the truest sense. His own partner had out grown him, his own city had forgotten him, and most of the villains underneath him were half-convinced they didn’t need him.

His Momma had told him about the “Laws of the Strays”, that cats worked to keep the universe balanced. No deed escaped retribution, and no action went without a reaction. Negaduck considered himself an equalizer in a similar sense of the word. Stellar had hurt him, sure. Torture, anguish, trauma, loss. He could deal, he would deal, he had dealt.

Stellar couldn’t touch him anymore. Couldn’t touch Gosalyn, couldn’t touch his city.

But he deserved so much worse than that.

And Negaduck liked to keep the universe balanced.

Stellar had hurt his family. His friends. His circle and connections and community.

It was only fair that Negaduck do the same.

“Merry Christmas to all,” he smiled, leading the group back towards the city, which was aglow with Christmas lights. A Christmas that would very, very soon, be up in flames. “And to all, a bad night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! This has been a really, really fun - and challenging - thing to write. At first, when Reese's and I were discussing it, I was thinking just a few one-shots, super angsty, and filled with torture. But as I worked on it and developed some of my ideas, I realized that, the angst fiend that I am, I didn't like torture all that much. I like lonliness, and breakdowns, and psychological beatings. So the fics adapted to such. And it's paid off, I believe.
> 
> Yes, I left it very open ended, but after introducing SHUSH, I couldn't bring myself to ignore it, or let it just end. It's not that simple.
> 
> I hope everyone has enjoyed this silly little angst adventure. And huge thanks to RebellingStagnation for trusting me enough to mess with her universe. This has been a very unique challenge, and I have learned so much from it. And thank you to everyone else who has been reading and supporting me! I hope I've not only given you some feels, but have offered just another piece to this huge universe that Reese's has built.
> 
> So thank you to all, and to all a good night! And happy New Years!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Glitter and Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16537307) by [RebellingStagnation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebellingStagnation/pseuds/RebellingStagnation)




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